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CORNELL
Nature-Study Leaflets

BEING A SELECTION, WITH REVISION, FROM THE TEACHERS' LEAFLETS, HOME NATURE-STUDY LESSONS, JUNIOR NATURALIST MONTHLIES AND OTHER PUBLICATIONS FROM THE COLLEGE OF AGRICULTURE, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, ITHACA, N.Y., 1896-1904

State of New York—Department of Agriculture

Nature-Study Bulletin No. 1

ALBANY
J. B. LYON COMPANY, PRINTERS
1904

[LETTER OF TRANSMITTAL.]

College of Agriculture,
Cornell University,
Ithaca, N. Y.

Hon. C. A. Wieting,
Commissioner of Agriculture,
Albany, N. Y.:

Sir.—I submit herewith as a part of the Annual Report of 1903 a number of the nature-study publications for reprinting. Most of these publications are out of print and the call for them still continues. These publications have practically all arisen under your supervision, and under the directorship of Professor I. P. Roberts.

Nature-study work should begin in the primary grades. It is a fundamental educational process, because it begins with the concrete and simple, develops the power of observation, relates the child to its environment, develops sympathy for the common and the near-at-hand. By the time the child has arrived at the fifth or sixth grade he should be well prepared for specific work in the modern environmental geography, in the industries, or in other exacter common-life subjects. Nature-study is a necessary foundation for the best work in biology, physiography and agriculture. Since it is content work, it is also equally important as a preparation in all expression work, as in English, number and reading. In most present-day rural schools it may well continue through the eighth grade; and, if well taught, it may even take the place very profitably of some of the "science" of some of the higher schools. Its particular sphere, however, in a well-developed school, is below the sixth grade, possibly below the fifth. But even if the term nature-study ceases at the fifth or sixth grade, the nature-study method will persist throughout the school course,—the method of dealing first-hand and in their natural setting with objects, phenomena and affairs, and of proceeding from the simple and undissected to the complex and remote.

The reader should bear in mind that the College of Agriculture has no organic connection with the public school system of New York State, and that its nature-study work is a propaganda. From first to last the College has been fortunate in having the sympathy, aid, and approval of the State Department of Public Instruction, and now of the new Education Department. The time is now near at hand when nature-study will be adequately recognized in the school system of the State, and then the nature-study work of the College of Agriculture may take new form.

In these reprinted leaflets the reader will find many methods of presentation of a great variety of subject-matter. A wide range has purposely been included, in the hope that any interested teacher may find at least one or two leaflets that will be suggestive in his own work. Our own ideas as to what is a valuable leaflet have changed greatly since the work was begun; and it is to be expected that they will continue to change with the progress of the work and the development of the schools. It would be an interesting review if we were to summarize our own experiences with our own work. The leaflet that is most praised by the critics may be the least useful in practice. The greatest danger is that of making the work too complete, too rigid and too formidable.

L. H. BAILEY,
Director College of Agriculture.

CONTENTS.

PART I.
TEACHERS' LEAFLETS.

Publications designed to aid the teacher with subject-matter, to indicate the point of view, and to suggest a method of presentation.

THE SCHOOL HOUSE.
By L. H. BAILEY.

In the rural districts, the school must become a social and intellectual centre. It must stand in close relationship with the life and activities of its community. It must not be an institution apart, exotic to the common-day lives; it must teach the common things and put the pupil into sympathetic touch with his own environment. Then every school house will have a voice, and will say:

I teach

The earth and soil To them that toil, The hill and fen To common men That live right here;

The plants that grow, The winds that blow, The streams that run In rain and sun Throughout the year;

And then I lead, Thro' wood and mead, Thro' mold and sod, Out unto God With love and cheer.

I teach!

LEAFLET I.
WHAT IS NATURE-STUDY?[1]
By L. H. BAILEY.

Nature-study, as a process, is seeing the things that one looks at, and the drawing of proper conclusions from what one sees. Its purpose is to educate the child in terms of his environment, to the end that his life may be fuller and richer. Nature-study is not the study of a science, as of botany, entomology, geology, and the like. That is, it takes the things at hand and endeavors to understand them, without reference primarily to the systematic order or relationships of the objects. It is informal, as are the objects which one sees. It is entirely divorced from mere definitions, or from formal explanations in books. It is therefore supremely natural. It trains the eye and the mind to see and to comprehend the common things of life; and the result is not directly the acquiring of science but the establishing of a living sympathy with everything that is.

The proper objects of nature-study are the things that one oftenest meets. Stones, flowers, twigs, birds, insects, are good and common subjects. The child, or even the high school pupil, is first interested in things that do not need to be analyzed or changed into unusual forms or problems. Therefore, problems of chemistry and of physics are for the most part unsuited to early lessons in nature-study. Moving things, as birds, insects and mammals, interest children most and therefore seem to be the proper objects for nature-study; but it is often difficult to secure such specimens when wanted, especially in liberal quantity, and still more difficult to see the objects in perfectly natural conditions. Plants are more easily had, and are therefore usually more practicable for the purpose, although animals and minerals should by no means be excluded.

If the objects to be studied are informal, the methods of teaching should be the same. If nature-study were made a stated part of a rigid curriculum, its purpose might be defeated. One difficulty with our present school methods is the necessary formality of the courses and the hours. Tasks are set, and tasks are always hard. The best way to teach nature-study is, with no hard and fast course laid out, to bring in some object that may be at hand and to set the pupils to looking at it. The pupils do the work,—they see the thing and explain its structure and its meaning. The exercise should not be long, not to exceed fifteen minutes perhaps, and, above all things, the pupil should never look upon it as a "recitation," nor as a means of preparing for "examination." It may come as a rest exercise, whenever the pupils become listless. Ten minutes a day, for one term, of a short, sharp, and spicy observation lesson on plants, for example, is worth more than a whole text-book of botany.

The teacher should studiously avoid definitions, and the setting of patterns. The old idea of the model flower is a pernicious one, because it does not exist in nature. The model flower, the complete leaf, and the like, are inferences, and pupils should always begin with things and phenomena, and not with abstract ideas. In other words, the ideas should be suggested by the things, and not the things by the ideas. "Here is a drawing of a model flower," the old method says; "go and find the nearest approach to it." "Go and find me a flower," is the true method, "and let us see what it is."

Every child, and every grown person too, for that matter, is interested in nature-study, for it is the natural way of acquiring knowledge. The only difficulty lies in the teaching, for very few teachers have had experience in this informal method of drawing out the observing and reasoning powers of the pupil without the use of text-books. The teacher must first of all feel in natural objects the living interest which it is desired the pupils shall acquire. If the enthusiasm is not catching, better let such teaching alone.

Primarily, nature-study, as the writer conceives it, is not knowledge. He would avoid the leaflet that gives nothing but information. Nature-study is not "method." Of necessity each teacher will develop a method; but this method is the need of the teacher, not of the subject.

Nature-study is not to be taught for the purpose of making the youth a specialist or a scientist. Now and then a pupil will desire to pursue a science for the sake of the science, and he should be encouraged. But every pupil may be taught to be interested in plants and birds and insects and running brooks, and thereby his life will be the stronger. The crop of scientists will take care of itself.

It is said that nature-study teaching is not thorough and therefore is undesirable. Much that is good in teaching has been sacrificed for what we call "thoroughness,"—which in many cases means only a perfunctory drill in mere facts. One cannot teach a pupil to be really interested in any natural object or phenomenon until the pupil sees accurately and reasons correctly. Accuracy is a prime requisite in any good nature-study teaching, for accuracy is truth and it develops power. It is better that a pupil see twenty things accurately, and see them himself, than that he be confined to one thing so long that he detests it. Different subjects demand different methods of teaching. The method of mathematics cannot be applied to dandelions and polliwogs.

The first essential in nature-study is actually to see the thing or the phenomenon. It is positive, direct, discriminating, accurate observation. The second essential is to understand why the thing is so, or what it means. The third essential is the desire to know more, and this comes of itself and thereby is unlike much other effort of the schoolroom. The final result should be the development of a keen personal interest in every natural object and phenomenon.

Real nature-study cannot pass away. We are children of nature, and we have never appreciated the fact so much as we do now. But the more closely we come into touch with nature, the less do we proclaim the fact abroad. We may hear less about it, but that will be because we are living nearer to it and have ceased to feel the necessity of advertising it.

Much that is called nature-study is only diluted and sugar-coated science. This will pass. Some of it is mere sentimentalism. This also will pass. With the changes, the term nature-study may fall into disuse; but the name matters little so long as we hold to the essence.

All new things must be unduly emphasized, else they cannot gain a foothold in competition with things that are established. For a day, some new movement is announced in the daily papers, and then, because we do not see the head lines, we think that the movement is dead; but usually when things are heralded they have only just appeared. So long as the sun shines and the fields are green, we shall need to go to nature for our inspiration and our respite; and our need is the greater with every increasing complexity of our lives.

All this means that the teacher will need helps. He will need to inform himself before he attempts to inform the pupil. It is not necessary that he become a scientist in order to do this. He goes as far as he knows, and then says to the pupil that he cannot answer the questions that he cannot. This at once raises him in the estimation of the pupil, for the pupil is convinced of his truthfulness, and is made to feel—but how seldom is the sensation!—that knowledge is not the peculiar property of the teacher but is the right of any one who seeks it. Nature-study sets the pupil to investigating for himself. The teacher never needs to apologize for nature. He is teaching merely because he is an older and more experienced pupil than his pupil is. This is the spirit of the teacher in the universities to-day. The best teacher is the one whose pupils the farthest outrun him.

In order to help the teacher in the rural schools of New York, we have conceived of a series of leaflets explaining how the common objects can be made interesting to children. Whilst these are intended for the teacher, there is no harm in giving them to the pupil; but the leaflets should never be used as texts from which to make recitations. Now and then, take the children for a ramble in the woods or fields, or go to the brook or lake. Call their attention to the interesting things that you meet—whether you yourself understand them or not—in order to teach them to see and to find some point of sympathy; for every one of them will some day need the solace and the rest which this nature-love can give them. It is not the mere information that is valuable; that may be had by asking someone wiser than they, but the inquiring and sympathetic spirit is one's own.

The pupils will find their regular lessons easier to acquire for this respite of ten minutes with a leaf or an insect, and the school-going will come to be less perfunctory. If you must teach drawing, set the picture in a leaflet before the pupils for study, and then substitute the object. If you must teach composition, let the pupils write on what they have seen. After a time, give ten minutes now and then to asking the children what they saw on their way to school.

Now, why is the College of Agriculture at Cornell University interesting itself in this work? It is trying to help the farmer, and it begins with the most teachable point—the child. The district school cannot teach technical professional agriculture any more than it can teach law or engineering or any other profession or trade, but it can interest the child in nature and in rural problems, and thereby join his sympathies to the country at the same time that his mind is trained to efficient thinking. The child will teach the parent. The coming generation will see the result. In the interest of humanity and country, we ask for help.

How to make the rural school more efficient is one of the most difficult problems before our educators, but the problem is larger than mere courses of study. Social and economic questions are at the bottom of the difficulty, and these questions may be beyond the reach of the educator. A correspondent wrote us the other day that an old teacher in a rural school, who was receiving $20 a month, was underbid 50 cents by one of no experience, and the younger teacher was engaged for $19.50, thus saving the district for the three months' term the sum of $1.50. This is an extreme case, but it illustrates one of the rural school problems.

One of the difficulties with the rural district school is the fact that the teachers tend to move to the villages and cities, where there is opportunity to associate with other teachers, where there are libraries, and where the wages are sometimes better. This movement is likely to leave the district school in the hands of younger teachers, and changes are very frequent. To all this there are many exceptions. Many teachers appreciate the advantages of living in the country. There they find compensations for the lack of association. They may reside at home. Some of the best work in our nature-study movement has come from the rural schools. We shall make a special effort to reach the country schools. Yet it is a fact that new movements usually take root in the city schools and gradually spread to the smaller places. This is not the fault of the country teacher; it comes largely from the fact that his time is occupied by so many various duties and that the rural schools do not have the advantage of the personal supervision which the city schools have.

Retrospect and Prospect after five years' work.[2]

To create a larger public sentiment in favor of agriculture, to increase the farmer's respect for his own business,—these are the controlling purposes in the general movement that we are carrying forward under the title of nature-study. It is not by teaching agriculture directly that this movement can be started. The common schools in New York will not teach agriculture to any extent for the present, and the movement, if it is to arouse a public sentiment, must reach beyond the actual farmers themselves. The agricultural status is much more than an affair of mere farming. The first undertaking, as we conceive the problem, is to awaken an interest in the things with which the farmer lives and has to do, for a man is happy only when he is in sympathy with his environment. To teach observation of common things, therefore, has been the fundamental purpose. A name for the movement was necessary. We did not wish to invent a new name or phrase, as it would require too much effort in explanation. Therefore, we chose the current and significant phrase "nature-study," which, while it covers many methods and practices, stands everywhere for the opening of the mind directly to the common phenomena of nature.

We have not tried to develop a system of nature-study nor to make a contribution to the pedagogics of the subject. We have merely endeavored, as best we could, to reach a certain specific result,—the enlarging of the agricultural horizon. We have had no pedagogical theories, or, if we have, they have been modified or upset by the actual conditions that have presented themselves. Neither do we contend that our own methods and means have always been the best. We are learning. Yet we are sure that the general results justify all the effort.

Theoretical pedagogical ideals can be applied by the good teacher who comes into personal relations with the children, and they are almost certain to work out well. These ideals cannot always be applied, however, with persons who are to be reached by means of correspondence and in a great variety of conditions, and particularly when many of the subjects lie outside the customary work of the schools.

Likewise, the subjects selected for our nature-study work must be governed by conditions and not wholly by ideals. We are sometimes asked why we do not take up topics more distinctly agricultural or economic. The answer is that we take subjects that teachers will use. We would like, for example, to give more attention to insect subjects, but it is difficult to induce teachers to work with them. If distinctly agricultural topics alone were used, the movement would have very little following and influence. Moreover, it is not our purpose to teach technical agriculture in the common schools, but to inculcate the habit of observing, to suggest work that has distinct application to the conditions in which the child lives, to inspire enthusiasm for country life, to aid in home-making, and to encourage a general movement towards the soil. These matters cannot be forced. In every effort by every member of the extension staff, the betterment of agricultural conditions has been the guiding impulse, however remote from that purpose it may have seemed to the casual observer.

We have found by long experience that it is unwise to give too much condensed subject-matter. The individual teacher can give subject-matter in detail because personal knowledge and enthusiasm can be applied. But in general correspondence and propagandist work this cannot be done. With the Junior Naturalist, for example, the first impulse is to inspire enthusiasm for some bit of work which we hope to take up. This enthusiasm is inspired largely by the organization of clubs and by the personal correspondence that is conducted between the Bureau and these clubs and their members. It is the desire, however, to follow up this general movement with instruction in definite subject-matter with the teacher. Therefore, a course in Home Nature-study was formally established under the general direction of Mrs. Mary Rogers Miller. It was designed to carry on the experiment for one year, in order to determine whether such a course would be productive of good results and to discover the best means of prosecuting it. These experimental results were very gratifying. Nearly 2,000 New York teachers are now regularly enrolled in the Course, the larger part of whom are outside the metropolitan and distinctly urban conditions. Every effort is made to reach the rural teacher.

In order that the work may reach the children, it must be greatly popularized and the children must be met on their own ground. The complete or ideal leaflet may have little influence. For example, I prepared a leaflet on "A Children's Garden" which several people were kind enough to praise. However, very little direct result was secured from the use of this leaflet until "Uncle John" began to popularize it and to make appeals to teachers and children by means of personal talks, letters and circulars. So far as possible, his appeal to children was made in their own phrase. The movement for the children's garden has now taken definite shape, and the result is that more than 26,000 children in New York State are raising plants during the present year. Another illustration of this kind may be taken from the effort to improve the rural school grounds. I wrote a bulletin on "The Improvement of Rural School Grounds," but the tangible results were very few. Now, however, through the work of "Uncle John" with the teachers and the children, a distinct movement has begun for the cleaning and improving of the school grounds of the State. This movement is yet in its infancy, but several hundred schools are now in process of renovation, largely through the efforts of the children.

The idea of organizing children into clubs for the study of plants and animals, and other outdoor subjects, originated, so far as our work is concerned, with Mr. John W. Spencer himself an actual, practical farmer. His character as "Uncle John" has done much to supply the personality that ordinarily is lacking in correspondence work, and there has been developed amongst the children an amount of interest and enthusiasm which is surprising to those who have not watched its progress.

The problems connected with the rural schools are probably the most difficult questions to solve in the whole field of education. We believe, however, that the solution cannot begin directly with the rural schools themselves. It must begin in educational centres and gradually spread to the country districts. We are making constant efforts to reach the actual rural schools and expect to utilize fully every means within our power, but it is work that is attended with many inherent difficulties. We sometimes feel that the agricultural status can be reached better through the hamlet, village, and some of the city schools than by means of the little red school house on the corner. By appeals to the school commissioners in the rural districts, by work through teachers' institutes, through farmers' clubs, granges and other means we believe that we are reaching farther and farther into the very agricultural regions. It is difficult to get consideration for purely agricultural subjects in the rural schools themselves. Often the school does not have facilities for teaching such subjects, often the teachers are employed only for a few months, and there is frequently a sentiment against innovation. It has been said that one reason why agricultural subjects are taught less in the rural schools of America than in those of some parts of Europe, is because of the few male teachers and the absence of school gardens.

We have met with the greatest encouragement and help from very many of the teachers in the rural schools. Often under disadvantages and discouragements they are carrying forward their part of the educational work with great consecration and efficiency. In all the educational work we have been fortunate to have the sympathy and co-operation of the State Department of Public Instruction. We do not expect that all teachers nor even a majority will take up nature-study work. It is not desirable that they should. We are gratified, however, at the large number who are carrying it forward.

This Cornell nature-study movement is one small part of a general awakening in educational circles, a movement which looks towards bringing the child into actual contact and sympathy with the things with which he has to do. This work is taking on many phases. One aspect of it is its relation to the teaching of agriculture and to the love of country life. This aspect is yet in its early experimental stage. The time will come when institutions in every State will carry on work along this line. It will be several years yet before this type of work will have reached what may be considered an established condition, or before even a satisfactory body of experience shall have been attained. Out of the varied and sometimes conflicting methods and aims that are now before the public, there will develop in time an institution-movement of extension agricultural teaching.

The literature issued by the Bureau of Nature-Study is of two general types: that which is designed to be of more or less permanent value to the teacher and the school; and that which is of temporary use, mostly in the character of supplements and circulars designed to meet present conditions or to rally the teachers or the Junior Naturalists. The literature of the former type is now republished and is to be supplied gratis to teachers in New York State. The first publication of the Bureau of Nature-Study was a series of teachers' leaflets. This series ran to twenty-two numbers. It was discontinued in May, 1901, because it was thought that sufficient material had then been printed to supply teachers with subjects for a year's work. It was never intended to publish these leaflets indefinitely. Unfortunately, however, some persons have supposed that because these teachers' leaflets were discontinued we were lessening our efforts in the nature-study work. The fact is that later years have seen an intensification of the effort and also a strong conviction on the part of all those concerned that the work has permanent educative value. We never believed so fully in the efficiency of this kind of effort as at the present time.

LEAFLET II.
THE NATURE-STUDY MOVEMENT.[3]
By L. H. BAILEY.

The nature-study movement is the outgrowth of an effort to put the child into contact and sympathy with its own life.

It is strange that such a movement is necessary. It would seem to be natural and almost inevitable that the education of the child should place it in intimate relation with the objects and events with which it lives. It is a fact, however, that our teaching has been largely exotic to the child; that it has begun by taking the child away from its natural environment; that it has concerned itself with the subject-matter rather than with the child. This is the marvel of marvels in education.

Let me illustrate by a reference to the country school. If any man were to find himself in a country wholly devoid of schools, and were to be set the task of originating and organizing a school system, he would almost unconsciously introduce some subjects that would be related to the habits of the people and to the welfare of the community. Being freed from traditions, he would teach something of the plants and animals and fields and people. Yet, as a matter of fact, what do our rural schools teach? They usually teach the things that the academies and the colleges and the universities have taught—that old line of subjects that is supposed, in its higher phases, to lead to "learning." The teaching in the elementary school is a reflection of old academic methods. We really begin our system at the wrong end—with a popularizing and simplifying of methods and subjects that are the product of the so-called higher education. We should begin with the child. "The greatest achievement of modern education," writes Professor Payne, "is the gradation and correlation of schools, whereby the ladder of learning is let down from the university to secondary schools, and from these to the schools of the people." It is historically true that the common schools are the products of the higher or special schools, and this explains why it is that so much of the common-school work is unadapted to the child. The kindergarten and some of the manual-training, are successful revolts against all this. It seems a pity that it were ever necessary that the ladder of learning be "let down;" it should be stood on the ground.

The crux of the whole subject lies in the conception of what education is. We all define it in theory to be a drawing out and a developing of the powers of the mind; but in practice we define it in the terms of the means that we employ. We have come to associate education with certain definite subjects, as if no other sets of subjects could be made the means of educating a mind. One by one, new subjects have forced themselves in as being proper means for educating. All the professions, natural science, mechanic arts, politics, and last of all agriculture, have contended for a place in educational systems and have established themselves under protest. Now, any subject, when put into pedagogic form, is capable of being the means of educating a man. The study of Greek is no more a proper means of education than the study of Indian corn is. The mind may be developed by means of either one. Classics and calculus are no more divine than machines and potatoes are. We are much in the habit of speaking of certain subjects as leading to "culture;" but this is really factitious, for "culture" is the product only of efficient teaching, whatever the subject-matter may be. So insistent have we been on the employing of "culture studies" that we seem to have mistaken the means of education for the object or result of education. What a man is, is more important than what he knows. Anything that appeals to a man's mind is capable of drawing out and training that mind; and is there any subject that does not appeal to some man's mind? The subject may be Sanskrit literature, hydraulics, physics, electricity, or agriculture—all may be made the means whereby men and women are educated, all may lead to what we ought to know as culture. The particular subject with which the person deals is incidental, for

"A man's a man for a' that and a' that."

Is there, then, to be no choice of subjects? There certainly is. It is the end of education to prepare the man or woman better to live. The person must live with his surroundings. He must live with common things. The most important means with which to begin the educational process, therefore, are those subjects that are nearest the man. Educating by means of these subjects puts the child into first-hand relation with his own life. It expands the child's spontaneous interest in his environment into a permanent and abiding sympathy and philosophy of life. I never knew an exclusive student of classics or philosophy who did not deplore his lack of touch with his own world. These common subjects are the natural, primary, fundamental, necessary subjects. Only as the child-mind develops should it be taken on long flights to extrinsic subjects, distant lands, to things far beyond its own realm; and yet, does not our geography teaching still frequently begin with the universe or with the solar system?

In the good time coming, geography will not begin with a book at all, as, in fact, it does not now with many teachers. It may end with one. It will begin with physical features in the very neighborhood in which the child lives—with brooks and lakes and hills and fields. Education should begin always with objects and phenomena. We are living in a text-book and museum age. First of all, we put our children into books, sometimes even into books that tell about the very things at the child's door, as if a book about a thing were better than the thing itself. So accustomed are we to the book-route that we regard any other route as unsystematic, unmethodical, disconnected. Books are only secondary means of education. We have made the mistake of considering them primary. This mistake we are rapidly correcting. As the book is relegated to its proper sphere, we shall find ourselves free to begin with the familiar end of familiar things.

Not only are we to begin with common objects and events, but with the child's natural point of contact with them. Start with the child's sympathies; lead him on and out. We are to develop the child, not the subject. The specialists may be trusted to develop the subject-matter and to give us new truth. The child is first interested in the whole plant, the whole bug, the whole bird, as a living, grooving object. It is a most significant fact that most young children like plants, but that most youths dislike botany. The fault lies neither in the plants nor in the youths. A youth may study cells until he hates the plant that bears the cells. He may acquire a technical training in cells, but he may be divorced from objects with which he must live, and his life becomes poorer rather than richer. I have no objection to minute dissection and analysis, but we must be very careful not to begin it too early nor to push it too far, for we are not training specialists: we are developing the power that will enable the pupil to get the most from his own life. As soon as the pupil begins to lose interest in the plant or the animal itself, stop!

There is still another reason for the study of the common things in variety: it develops the power to grasp the problems of the day and to make the man resourceful. A young man who has spent all his time in the schoolroom is usually hopelessly helpless when he encounters a real circumstance. I see this remarkably illustrated in my own teaching, for I have young men from the city and from farms. The farm boy will turn his hand to twenty things where the city boy will turn his to one. The farm boy has had to meet problems and to solve them for himself: this is sometimes worth more than his entire school training. Why does the farm boy make his way when he goes to the city?

It is no mere incident to one's life that he be able to think in the thought of his own time. Even though one expect to devote himself wholly to a dead language, in school he should study enough natural science and enough technology to enable him to grasp living problems. I fear that some institutions are still turning out men with mediæval types of mind.

Now, therefore, I come again to my thesis,—to the statement that the end and purpose of nature-study is to educate the young mind by means of the subjects within its own sphere, by appealing to its own sympathetic interest in them, in order that the person's life may be sweeter, deeper, and more resourceful. Nature-study would not necessarily drive any subject from the curriculum; least of all would it depreciate the value of the "humanities;" but it would restore to their natural and proper place the subjects that are related to the man. It would begin with things within the person's realm. If we are to interest children—or grown-ups, either, for that matter—we must begin by teaching the things that touch their lives. Where there is one person that is interested in philology, there are hundreds that are interested in engines and in wheat. From the educational point of view, neither the engine nor the wheat is of much consequence, but the men who like the engines and who grow the wheat are immeasurably important and must be reached. There are five millions of farms in the United States on which chickens are raised, and also thousands of city and village lots where they are grown. I would teach chickens. I would reach Men by means of the Old Hen.

How unrelated much of our teaching is to the daily life is well shown by inquiries recently made of the children of New Jersey by Professor Earl Barnes. Inquiries were made of the country school children in two agricultural counties of the State as to what vocation they hoped to follow. As I recall the figures, of the children at seven years of age 26 per cent desired to follow some occupation connected with country life. Of those at fourteen years, only 2 per cent desired such occupation. This remarkable falling off Professor Barnes ascribes in part to the influence of the teacher in the country schools, who is usually a town or city girl. The teacher measures everything in terms of the city. She talks of the city. She returns to the city at the end of the week. In the meantime, all the beauty and attractiveness and opportunity of the country may be unsuggested. Unconsciously both to teacher and pupil, the minds of the children are turned toward the city. There results a constant migration to the city, bringing about serious social and economic problems; but from the educational point of view the serious part of it is the fact that the school training may unfit the child to live in its normal and natural environment. It is often said that the agricultural college trains the youth away from the farm; the fact is that the mischief is done long before the youth enters college.

Let me give another illustration of the fact that dislike of country life is bred very early in the life of the child. In a certain rural school in New York State, of say forty-five pupils, I asked all those children that lived on farms to raise their hands; all hands but one went up. I then asked those who wanted to live on the farm to raise their hands; only that one hand went up. Now, these children were too young to feel the appeal of more bushels of potatoes or more pounds of wool, yet they had thus early formed their dislike of the farm. Some of this dislike is probably only an ill-defined desire for a mere change, such as one finds in all occupations, but I am convinced that the larger part of it was a genuine dissatisfaction with farm life. These children felt that their lot was less attractive than that of other children; I concluded that a flower garden and a pleasant yard would do more to content them with living on the farm than ten more bushels of wheat to the acre. Of course, it is the greater and better yield that will enable the farmer to supply these amenities; but at the same time it must be remembered that the increased yield itself does not arouse a desire for them. I should make farm life interesting before I make it profitable.

Of course, nature-study is not proposed merely as a means of keeping youth in the country; I have given these examples only to illustrate the fact that much of our teaching is unrelated to the circumstances in which the child lives—and this is particularly true of teaching in the rural schools. Nature-study applies to city and country conditions alike, acquiring additional emphasis in the country from the fact that what we call "nature" forms the greater part of the environment there. But the need to connect the child with itself is fundamental to all efficient teaching. To the city child the problems associated with the city are all-important; but even then I should give much attention to the so-called "nature subjects;" for these are clean, inspiring, universal. "Back to nature" is an all-pervading tendency of the time.

We must distinguish sharply between the purposes of nature-study and its methods. Its purposes are best expressed in the one word "sympathy." By this I do not mean sentimentalism or superficiality or desultoriness. The acquiring of sympathy with the things and events amongst which one lives is the result of a real educational process—a process as vital and logical and efficient as that concerned in educating the older pupil in terms of fact and "science." Nature-study is not "natural history," nor "biology," nor even elementary science. It is an attitude, a point of view, a means of contact.

Nature-study is not merely the adding of one more thing to a curriculum. It is not co-ordinate with geography, or reading, or arithmetic. Neither is it a mere accessory, or a sentiment, or an entertainment, or a tickler of the senses. It is not a "study." It is not the addition of more "work." It has to do with the whole point of view of elementary education, and therefore is fundamental. It is the full expression of personality. It is the practical working out of the extension idea that has become so much a part of our time. More than any other recent movement, it will reach the masses and revive them. In time it will transform our ideals and then transform our methods.

The result of all this changing point of view I like to speak of as a new thing. Of course, there is no education that is wholly new in kind; and it is equally true that education is always new, else it is dead and meaningless. But this determination to cast off academic methods, to put ourselves at the child's point of view, to begin with the objects and phenomena that are near and dear to the child, is just now so marked, and is sure to be so far-reaching in its effects, that I cannot resist the temptation to collect these various movements, for emphasis, under the title of the "new education."

"Nature-study" is another name for this new education. It is a revolt from the too exclusive science-teaching and book-teaching point of view, a protest against taking the child first of all out of its own environment. It is a product of the teaching of children in the elementary schools. The means and methods in nature-study are as varied as the persons who teach it. Most of the criticism of the movement—even among nature-study folk themselves—has to do with means and methods rather than with real ideals. We are now in the epoch when we should overlook minor differences and all work together for the good of a common cause. There is no one subject and no one method that is best.

While it is not my purpose to enter into any discussion of the methods of teaching nature-study, I cannot refrain from calling attention to what I believe to be some of the most serious dangers, (1) I would first mention the danger of giving relatively too much attention to mere subject-matter or fact. Nowhere should the acquiring of mere information be the end of an educational process, and least of all in nature-study, for the very essence of nature-study is spirit, sympathy, enthusiasm, attitude toward life. These results the youth gains naturally when he associates in a perfectly free and natural way with objects in the wild. Science-teaching has fallen short of its goal in the elementary schools—and even in the colleges and universities—by insisting so much on the subject-matter that the pupil is overlooked. In standing so rigidly for the letter, we have missed the spirit. President Eliot has recently called attention to this danger: "College professors heretofore have been apt to think that knowledge of the subject to be taught was the sufficient qualification of a teacher; but all colleges have suffered immeasurable losses as a result of this delusion." (2) A second danger is the tendency to make the instruction too long and too laborious. As soon as the child becomes weary of giving attention, the danger-point is reached; for thereafter there is loss in the spirit and enthusiasm, however much may be gained in dry subject-matter. I believe that even in high schools and colleges we make mistakes by demanding too long-continued application to one subject. Short, sharp, enthusiastic exercises, with pith and point, of five to ten minutes' duration, are efficient and sufficient for most purposes, particularly with beginners. (3) A third danger is the practice of merely telling or explaining. Set the child to work, and let the work be within his own realm. Pollen, lichens, capsules, lymphatics, integuments—these are not within the child's range; they smack of the museum and the text-book. Yet it appears to be the commonest thing to put mere children at the subject of cross-fertilization; they should first be put, perhaps, at flowers and insects. I wish that in every schoolroom might be hung the motto, "Teaching, not telling." (4) A fourth point I ought to mention is the danger of clinging too closely to the book habit; this I have already touched on. We are gradually growing out of the book slavery, even in arithmetic and grammar and history. This means a distinct advance in the abilities of the teacher. Of all subjects that should not be taught by the book, nature-study is chief. Its very essence is freedom from tradition and "method." I wish that there were more nature-study books; but they are most useful as sources of fact and inspiration, not as class texts. The good teacher of nature-study must greatly modify the old idea of "recitations." I wish to quote again from President Eliot: "Arithmetic is a very cheap subject to teach; so are spelling and the old-fashioned geography. As to teaching history in the old-fashioned way, anybody could do that who could hear a lesson recited. To teach nature-studies, geometry, literature, physiography, and the modern sort of history requires well-informed and skillful teachers, and these cost more than the lesson-hearers did." (5) Finally, we must come into contact with the actual things, not with museums and collections. Museums are little better than books unless they are regarded as secondary means. The museum has now become a laboratory. The living museum must come more and more into vogue,—living birds, living plants, living insects. The ideal laboratory is the out-of-doors itself; but for practical school purposes this must be supplemented. The most workable living laboratory of any dimensions is the school garden. The true school garden is a laboratory plat; time is coming when such a laboratory will be as much a part of a good school equipment as blackboards and charts and books now are. It will be like an additional room to the school building. Aside from the real school garden, every school premises should be embellished and improved as a matter of neighborhood and civic pride; for one cannot expect the child to rise above the conditions in which he is placed. All these dangers cannot be overcome by any "system" or "method;" they must be solved one by one, place by place, each teacher for himself. Whenever nature-study comes to be rigidly graded and dressed and ordered, the breath of life will be crushed from it. It is significant that everywhere mere "method" is giving way to individualism.

In time, the methods of teaching nature-study will crystallize and consolidate around a few central points. The movement itself is well under way. It will persist because it is vital and fundamental. It will add new value and significance to all the accustomed work of the schools; for it is not revolutionary, but evolutionary. It stands for naturalness, resourcefulness, and for quickened interest in the common and essential things of life. We talk much about the ideals of education; but the true philosophy of life is to idealize everything with which we have to do.

LEAFLET III.
AN APPEAL TO THE TEACHERS OF NEW YORK STATE.[4]
By L. H. BAILEY.

The kernel of modern educational development is to relate the school-training to the daily life. Much of our education is not connected with the conditions in which the pupils live and is extraneous to the lives that they must lead. The free common schools are more recent in development than universities, colleges and academies and they are even yet essentially academic and in many ways undemocratic. They teach largely out of books and of subjects that have little vital relation with things that are real to the child. The school work is likely to be exotic to the pupil. The child lives in one world, and goes to school in another world.

Every subject has teaching-power when put into pedagogic form. The nearer this subject is to the child, the greater is its teaching power, other conditions being comparable; and the more completely does it put him into touch with his environment and make him efficient and happy therein. In time, all subjects in which men engage will be put in form for teaching and be made the means of training the mind. The old subjects will not be banished, but rather extended; but the range of subjects will be immensely increased because we must reach all people in terms of their daily experience. How all these subjects are to be handled as school agencies, we cannot yet foresee, nor is it my purpose now to discuss the question; but it is certain that the common things must be taught. And the common subjects are as capable of being made the means of developing the imagination and the higher ideals as are many of the traditional subjects.

Fig. 1. Junior Gardeners beginning the work of cleaning up a New York school ground.

Great numbers of our people are in industrial and agricultural environments. By means of the industrial and agricultural trades they must live. These trades must be made more efficient; and the youth must be educated to see in them more than a mere livelihood. These industrial and agricultural subjects must be put more and more into schools. My own interest lies at present more with the agricultural subjects, and these are the occasion for this appeal. The so-called "industrial" and commercial subjects have already been put into schools with good effect: the agricultural subjects now must come within the school horizon.

Probably one million and more of the people of New York State live on farms. This is approximately one in seven of our entire population. Moreover, every person is interested in the out-of-doors and in the things that grow therein. The future agricultural efficiency of New York State will depend on the school training more than on any other single factor; and on the agricultural efficiency of the State will depend, to an important extent, its economic supremacy. New York is the fourth State in total agricultural wealth, being exceeded only by Illinois, Iowa and Ohio. All the country children should be reached in terms of the country. Most of our school books are made for the city and town rather than for the country. The problem of the development of the rural school is the most important single educational problem now before us; and it is essentially an agricultural problem.

Fig. 2. Junior Gardeners at work in a New York school ground. The grounds are now ready for planting. The mail carrier now calls and the pupils take the mail home.

My appeal, therefore, is to every teacher in New York State, whether in country or city—for the city teacher makes public opinion, helps to set educational standards, and many of the country children go to school in the cities. I do not wish to press agriculture into the schools as a mere professional subject, but I would teach—along with the customary school work—the objects and phenomena and affairs of the country as well as of the city. The schools lead away from the country rather than towards it. All this I do not regard as a fault of the schools, but merely as a limitation due to the fact that the schools are still in process of evolution. It requires time to adapt a means to an end, and the schools are not to be criticised. But we must do our best to hasten the evolution. Schools, colleges and universities have only begun to reach the people effectively: these institutions must eventually touch every vital and homely problem, for they are to be the controlling factors in our civilization. Any subject that is worthy a person's attention out of school is also worthy his attention in school.

Fig. 3. Sugar beets and a fourteen-year-old experimenter. (Supt. Kern, Illinois.)

I heard a good story the other day of an occurrence of many years ago illustrating the fact that school training may be wholly exotic to the pupil. The story was told in Ogdensburg, and Heuvelton is near by. The class in geography was on exhibition, for there were visitors. The questions were answered quickly: "How far is it from Rome to Corinth?" "From Rome to Constantinople?" "From Paris to Rome?" A visitor was asked whether he had any questions to propound. He had one: "How far is it from Heuvelton to Ogdensburg?" No one answered; yet the visitor said that none of the pupils would be likely to go from Rome to Constantinople, but that every one of them would go from Heuvelton to Ogdensburg.

Not only must the school teach in terms of its own environment, but more and more it must become the intellectual and social center of the neighborhood or district. Every modern rural school building should be attractive enough to induce clubs of many kinds to hold meetings in it. In the old "lyceum" days the school house was an important gathering place. These days are mostly past, but better days should be coming: the school should connect at every point with the life of the community. Any event, however small, that centers the attention of the people at the school house is a beginning and is worth while. A year ago the children and teacher in one of our district schools began the work of "cleaning up" the premises. The picture ([Fig. 1]) shows them at work. Later, when the grounds were renovated and ready for the planting, boxes were placed for the reception of the mail for those who do not live on the carrier's route: this is the beginning of a centering of attention at the school house. I think that the boxes might have been more attractive and perhaps better placed, but this will come in time: a beginning has been made. When once the people of any community come to think of the school house as a meeting-place for old folks as well as for children, what may we not expect of the rural school? We need adult education as well as juvenile education.

I have now no course of study to propose for agricultural or country-life subjects in the schools, but I would like to know how many teachers in the State desire to take up certain work of this nature as an experiment. The College of Agriculture will be glad to suggest the kind of work, if need be. The western states are undertaking this work: we must not be behind. It is endorsed by Superintendent Skinner, as will be seen from the letter published at the close of this pamphlet.

To be effective and meaningful, this work should deal directly with the things,—handling the things, studying the things, learning from the things. This is nature-study. To commit to memory something about things is of little consequence. We are too closely committed to books. We are often slaves to books. Books are only secondary or incidental means of educating, particularly in nature-study subjects. We have known the book-way of educating for so long a time that many of us have come to accept it as a matter of course and as the only way. A New York school man recently told me an incident that illustrates this fact singularly well. In the Cattaraugus Indian Reservation he opened a school in which at first he employed only manual-training and nature-study work. Soon one of the children left school. The teacher sought the mother and asked why. The mother replied that there was no use in sending the child to school because the teacher had given it no books to study. So slavishly have we followed the book-route that even the Indian accepts it as the only road to schooling!

Fig. 4. Prize corn and a ten-year-old experimenter in one of Supt. Kern's districts, Illinois.

School-Gardens.

Many lines of work might be suggested for an occasional period. Perhaps the best one for spring is a school-garden. In time, every good school will have its garden, as it now has charts and blackboards and books. A school-garden is a laboratory-room added to the school house. It may be five feet square or ten times that much. The children prepare the land,—lessons in soils, soil physics; sow the seed,—lessons in planting, germination, and the like; care for the plants,—lessons in transplanting, struggle for existence, natural enemies, conditions that make for the welfare of the plants. The older pupils may be organized into experiment clubs, as they are being organized in parts of Illinois (see article on "Learning by Doing," by Supt. O. J. Kern, Review of Reviews, Oct., 1903, p. 456). We can help you in this school-gardening work.

Fig. 5. "Learning by doing." A new kind of school work in Illinois, under the direction of Supt. Kern.

Other Work.

If not school-gardens, take up other lines of work,—study the school premises, the nearby brook or field, an apple tree, or any other common object or phenomenon. If there is any special agricultural industry in the neighborhood, discuss it and set the pupils at work on it. Any of these common-day subjects will interest the children and brighten up the school work; and the pursuit of them will teach the children the all-important fact that so few of us ever learn,—the fact that the commonest and homeliest things are worthy the best attention of the best men and women.

Improving the School Grounds.

Just now, the improving of school grounds is a pressing subject. As a preliminary to the actual improving of the grounds, suppose that the following problems were set before the pupils:

1. Exercises on the Grounds.

1. Area.—Measure the school grounds, to determine the lengths and widths. Draw an outline map showing the shape. The older pupils may compute the square surface area. The distances may be compared, for practice, in feet, yards and rods. (Arithmetic.)

Fig. 6. Using the Babcock milk test at Professor Hollister's School, Corinth, N. Y.

2. Contour.—Is the area level, or rough, or sloping? Determine how great the slope is by sighting across a carpenter's level. In what direction does the ground slope? Is the slope natural, or was it made by grading? The older pupils may draw a cross-section line, to a scale, to show what the slope is. (Geography.)

3. Fences.—What parts of the area are fenced? What kind of fence? Total length of fence? Give opinion whether this fence is needed, with reasons. Is the fence in good repair? If not, what should be done to remedy it? (Arithmetic, language.)

4. Soil.—What is the nature of the soil—clay, sand, gravel, field loam? Was subsoil spread on the surface when the grounds were graded? Is the soil poor or rich, and why do you think so? Is it stony? What can be done to improve the soil? (Geography, language.)

5. Ground cover.—What is on the ground—sod or weeds, or is it bare? What do you think would be the best ground cover, and why? (Geography, language.)

6. Trees and bushes.—How many trees and bushes are there on the ground? Were they planted, or did they come up of themselves? Make a map showing where the principal ones are. Name all the kinds, putting the trees in one list and the bushes in another. Do any of the trees need pruning, and why? State whether any of them have been injured or are unhealthy. (Geography, language.)

7. Tenants.—What animals live or have lived on the school premises? What birds' nests do you find (these may be found in winter)? Hornets' nests? Perhaps you can find cocoons or egg-masses of insects in winter, and the active insects themselves in spring and fall. What birds visit the place? Do rabbits or mice or moles or frogs inhabit the premises? (Geography, language.)

8. Natural features.—Describe any strong natural features, as rocks, ponds, streams, groves. What views do you get from the school grounds? (Geography, language.)

2. Exercises on the School Structures.

9. Buildings.—How many buildings are on the grounds, including sheds, etc.? Give the sizes in lengths and widths. Brick or wood? Color? Make a map or chart showing the position of these structures, being careful to have the buildings properly proportioned with reference to the entire area. (Language, geography.)

10. Repairs needed.—Describe what condition the structures are in. Tell whether repairs are needed on foundations, side walls, roof, belfry, chimney, steps, doors, windows, paint. (Language.)

11. Flag pole.—Where is your flag pole? Could it be in a better place? How tall is it above ground? How much in diameter at the base? What kind of wood? Painted? How deep in the ground? When was it put up? What repairs does it need? (Language.)

3. General Exercises.

12. History.—When was the land set aside for a school? When was the school house built? Who built it? (History, language.)

13. Cost.—Try to find out what the land cost. What the building cost. Are they worth as much now? (History, language.)

14. Government.—Determine what officers have general control of the school. How did they come to be officers? How long do they hold office? What are the duties of each? Determine whether your school receives any aid from the State. (Government.)

15. Improvement.—Tell what you think should be done to improve the school grounds and the school structures. (Language.)

16. Photographs.—The teacher or some pupil should photograph the school premises, and send the picture to us. We want at least one picture of every rural school house and grounds in the State. Even a very poor photograph is better than none.

Experiment Garden.—Every school ground should have at least one small plat on which the children can grow some plant that is useful in that community. Just now alfalfa is demanding much attention from farmers, and it is certain soon to become a very important farm crop in New York State. It is used for pasturage and for hay. When once established, it lives for years. It is allied to clover and is a handsome plant for any school grounds. Will not the teacher suggest to the children that they make an alfalfa bed along one side of the school grounds? It will be attractive and will teach many lessons to pupils and parents even if it is only a few square feet in size. We want to put an alfalfa plat on every rural school ground in the State. We will supply the seed free. Alfalfa is easy to grow if only a few essential principles are kept in mind. We will send full directions to any one who applies. From year to year we will give nature-study lessons on these alfalfa plats.

We are anxious to start work of the above kind. It can be done at any time of the year. We are already in touch with more than 400 school grounds, but we want to reach every rural school ground in the State. Will not the teacher send to us the best piece of work done by any pupil in any of the foregoing sixteen problems? These papers we will file, as showing the conditions of the premises of the particular school. They will enable us to see the progress that is being made from year to year in the improvement of your school premises. They will also enable us better to give advice, when called upon to do so. Sometimes we can send to the particular school a man to give advice on the spot. Sending the best reports to the University will be a reward to the most diligent pupils. Send all reports to John W. Spencer, Nature-Study Bureau, Ithaca, N. Y.

We desire to put in the rural school houses of the State some good pictures of country and farm scenes. These pictures will be artistic reproductions of meritorious photographs, and large enough to hang on the walls of the school room. With each picture will be sent instructions for framing in order to make the picture more attractive. We shall choose eight such pictures for distribution the present school year. We will send one of these pictures free to any rural school in the State that takes up two of the problems given above; and all of them to schools that take up the sixteen problems. We expect to publish lists of all schools, with teachers' names, that take up this work in improving the premises of rural schools.

Fig. 7. Junior Naturalists making ready for planting. Tompkins Co., N. Y.

To one who is not teaching in the public schools, all this work seems to be simple enough. Such persons are likely to be impatient that more rapid progress is not made in introducing agricultural and common-life subjects into the schools. But the teacher knows that all this work requires patience and skill. It cannot as yet be forced into the schools and still retain spontaneity and vitality. It must come gradually, and prove itself as it goes. Probably all public school teachers are now agreed that the schools should be put closely in line with the life of their various communities. The questions now to be solved are chiefly those of means and methods, and of arousing the school constituencies to the new points of view. A full and free discussion of the whole subject is now needed. The time is hardly yet ripe for very definite courses of study in these new fields. Many schools are already teaching these new subjects with entire success: these schools can serve the cause by making their experience public.

LETTERS ON THE SUBJECT.

Fig. 8. Junior Gardeners at work in one of the New York Schools.

However, this circular is merely an appeal. It is an inquiry for suggestions and co-operation. I desire to know what can be accomplished in the schools of New York State in the direction of inspiring and useful work for children that live in the country or are interested in the country. I am sure that something needs to be done: just what is most feasible and best the teachers must largely determine. As further suggestions, I append two letters from New York teachers:

From A. M. Hollister, Principal of the Corinth Public Schools, Saratoga Co., N. Y.

"I am sending you under separate cover a picture of my class at work with the Babcock test machine ([Fig. 6]). We have used the machine both as a means of instruction in physics and chemistry and as a general demonstration before the different classes in the school. It beautifully illustrates some very important principles of physics and chemistry. The most marvellous effect, however, has been shown in the quality of the milk sold in the village. Milk was sold showing a test as low as 2.9 per cent butter fat. Almost as soon as the first testing was reported, the milk showed 3.8 per cent butter fat. Milk has been sent to the school from a number of dairymen with request for a test on particular cows that the parties might base their purchases of cows on the results of the test.

"In regard to the gardening with some of our boys, I would say that both boys and parents are much interested in the subject. We shall doubtless start about forty gardens of one-tenth acre each. The boys are to keep an exact account of all expenses to study methods, and to do all the work. I am anticipating results in a number of directions. The boys will be given something to do and to interest themselves in, which of itself is an important thing for a village boy. It will also develop a power of observation and ingenuity. We wish to get all the information we can on potato, tomato and squash culture. Other things will be suggested during the winter."

Approval of the Superintendent of Public Instruction.

(Published by permission.)

"For many years I have been making earnest efforts to induce teachers, pupils and patrons to improve and beautify the school buildings and school surroundings of our State. Some progress has been made, but much remains to be done.

"I heartily welcome the coöperation of every agency which can contribute to this result. We must interest parents and teachers in this work, but to obtain the best results I have always found that we must first interest the children. Once a spirit of enthusiasm is awakened in the children, it is easy to keep them interested and busy.

"I have long appreciated the earnest assistance of representatives of Cornell University in arousing the interest of pupils, and I heartily commend the plan outlined by the College of Agriculture to make a study of the schoolhouse and school grounds a practical part of the daily education of the child. A child's surroundings have much to do with his education. The result of such systematic study as is suggested must surely be a steadily increasing determination to remedy defects and correct any evil which may exist. When the attention of children is directed to existing conditions which bring discomfort, it will not be difficult to induce them to devise ways and means to improve matters.

"I shall watch the result of your efforts with deep interest, and stand ready to coöperate with you in every way.

"Very sincerely yours,
"CHARLES R. SKINNER,
"Albany, Dec. 17, 1903. State Superintendent."

LEAFLET IV.
WHAT IS AGRICULTURAL EDUCATION?[5]
By L. H. BAILEY.

Agricultural education has made great progress within the past few years. Methods are crystallizing and at the same time the field is enlarging. We once thought of agricultural education as wholly special or professional, but we now conceive of it as an integral part of general and fundamental educational policy. As a college or university subject it is necessarily technical and semi-professional; but college work must articulate with the common-school work, as language and science now articulate with the schools. That is, agricultural subjects are now to be considered as a part of primary and secondary school work, leading naturally to special work in the same subjects for those who desire technical training. In the schools the subjects are to be treated non-professionally, as primary means of educating the child. The reason for using these subjects as means of educating lies in the principle that the child should be educated in terms of its own life rather than wholly in subjects that are foreign to its horizon and experience. It is most surprising that, while the theory of education is that the person shall be trained into efficiency, we nevertheless have employed subjects that have little relation to the individual child's effectiveness.

Not long since my father showed me a letter that he received from a school girl in 1851. It read as follows: "I seat myself expressly for the purpose to finish this letter which has been long begun. I go to school room to Mr. Wells and study parsing mental Philosophy grammar and penciling." This sounds as if it came from "The Complete Letter-Writer." This person lived on a farm. She lives on a farm to this day. Her parents and grandparents lived on a farm. The family had no expectation of living elsewhere than on a farm. Yet, in her entire school life, I presume there was not a single hour devoted to any subject directly connected with the farm or with the country. If her studies touched life in any way that she could comprehend, it was probably in habits of thought of the city and of the academician rather than in anything that appealed to her as related to the life she was to lead. It is small wonder that the farm has been devoid of ideals, and that the attraction has been to leave it. The direction of the stream determines the course of the river.

The future course of education will develop many means of training the child mind. Heretofore these means have been few and the result has been narrow. We shall see agricultural, commercial, social subjects put into pedagogic form and be made the agencies whereby minds are drawn out. These will be at least as efficient as the customary methods that we happen thus far to have employed. How much of one or how much of another is a detail that must be left to the future. Nor does it follow that the old-time subjects are to pass away. They will be an important part of the system, but not the whole system. These new subjects are now coming into the schools as rapidly, perhaps, as they can be assimilated. It is a general feeling that our schools already are overcrowded with subjects; and this may be true. The trouble is that while we are introducing new ideas as to subjects, we are still holding to old ideas as to curriculums and courses of study. We will break up our schools into different kinds; we will employ more teachers; we will not endeavor to train all children alike; we will find that we may secure equal results from many kinds of training; we will consider the effect on the pupil to be of much greater importance than the developing of the particular subject that he pursues; there are many men of many minds; some system will be evolved whereby individual capabilities will be developed to the full; the means will be related to the pupil: one of the factors will be subjects making up the environment of the pupil that lives in the country.

My plea, therefore, is that agricultural and country life subjects become the means of educating some of the pupils of at least some of the schools. To be sure, we have already introduced "natural science" into many of the schools, but, for the most, part, this has worked down from the college and, necessarily, it usually stops at the high school. We need something much more vital for the secondary schools than science as commonly taught. The great nature-study movement is an expression, as yet imperfect, of the feeling that there should be some living connection between the school life and the real life.

A college of agriculture, therefore, is as much interested in the common schools as a college of arts and sciences is. It should be a part of a system, however informal that system may be, not an establishment isolated from other educational agencies. But even as a college it will reach more persons than it has ever reached in the past. In any self-sustaining commonwealth it is probable that one-third of the people must be intimately associated with the soil. These people need to be as well-trained as those who follow the mechanic trades or the professions. It is immensely difficult to put these agricultural subjects into teachable form and to reach the agricultural people in a way that will mean much to them, because agriculture is a compound of many wonderfully diverse trades in every conceivable kind of natural conditions. Nor can one institution in each large state or province hope eventually to reach all these people, any more than one institution can reach all those who would best be taught in terms of books. But there must be at least one institution that is well equipped for the very highest kind of effort in these fields; Congress long ago recognized this fact in the establishment of the land-grant colleges, and all persons who are informed on agricultural education also now recognize it. The agricultural colleges have been handicapped from the first for lack of funds. It is now coming to be recognized that the highest kind of effort in these colleges cannot be sustained on a farm that pays for itself nor by means that are copied from the customary college work in "humanities" and "science." If it is to be efficient, agricultural education of a university grade is probably more expensive to equip and maintain than any other kind of education.

Once it was thought that the agricultural college should be wholly separate from any "classical" institution. The oldest of the existing American agricultural colleges, the Michigan institution, is established on this principle. So are the Massachusetts, Iowa and Pennsylvania colleges and a number of others. It is natural that this should have been the feeling in the original movement for the establishment of these colleges, for the movement was itself a protest and revolt from the existing education. Time, however, has put agricultural subjects on an equal pedagogical plane with other subjects, and there is no more reason why the agriculture should be segregated by itself than that the architecture or law or fine arts should be. The agricultural colleges connected with universities are now beginning to grow rapidly. This is illustrated in the great development of the agricultural colleges at the universities in Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Nebraska, Missouri, Ohio, and elsewhere. It was once thought that the agricultural student would be "looked down upon" in a university or in a college with other departments. This was once true. It was true once, also, of the student in natural science and mechanic arts. Pioneers are always marked men. The only way to place agricultural students on an equality with other students is to place them on an equality.

These remarks are made in no disparagement of the separate agricultural colleges, but only to illustrate the character of the growth of agricultural education. No doubt the separate colleges blazed the way. They stand for an idea that we would not like to dispense with. Every state and territory has one college founded on the land grant, and in the Southern states there are two, one for the whites and one for the blacks; in nearly half of the states these colleges are separate institutions. But the fact remains that the college connected with the university is to have the broader field in the future. Its very connection dignifies it and gives it parity. It draws on many resources that the separate college knows not of, unless, indeed, the separate college develops these resources for itself. The tendency, therefore, is for every ambitious separate college to develop the accessory resources, in the way of equipment in general science, literature, the arts; for agricultural education is constantly coming to be of a higher grade. The separate agricultural and mechanical colleges are rapidly becoming essentially industrial universities, giving general training but with the emphasis on the technical subjects.

It is strange how far this principle of education by isolation has been carried in the development of the agricultural colleges. Not only have the colleges been separated from other educational enterprises, but in many cases they have been planted far in the open country, partly on the theory that the farm boy, of all others, should be removed from temptation and from the allurements of other occupations. It was the early theory, also, that the agricultural student must be compelled to do manual labor in order that he be put in sympathy with it and that his attention be isolated from tendencies that might divert him from farming. These methods seem to have rested on the general theory that if you would make a man a farmer you must deprive him of everything but farming. It would be interesting to try to estimate how much this general attitude on the part of the agricultural colleges was itself responsible for the very inferiority of position that the agricultural student was supposed to occupy. This attitude tended to maintain a traditional class distinction or even to create such a distinction. Agricultural education must be adapted to its ends; but it must also be able to stand alone in competition with all other education without artificial props. It is no longer necessary that the agricultural student wear blinders.

On the other hand, the farm point of view must be kept constantly before the student, as the engineering point of view is kept before the student in a college of civil engineering; but we are coming to a new way of accomplishing this. Mere teaching of the sciences that underlie agricultural practice will not accomplish it; nor, on the other hand, will drill in mere farm practice accomplish it. It is not the purpose of an agricultural college to make men farmers, but to educate farmers. We are not to limit the student's vision to any one occupation, but to make one occupation more meaningful and attractive than it has ever been before. From the farmer's point of view a leading difficulty with the college course is that it sometimes tends to slacken a man's business energy. One cannot at the same time pursue college studies and commercial business; and yet farming is a business. In a four years' course some students are likely to incur certain habits of ease that are difficult to overcome upon their return to the farm. How much this is a fault of the courses of instruction and how much a personal equation of the student is always worth considering. But if this is a fault of college work it is generic and not peculiar to colleges of agriculture. Experience has now shown that a compulsory labor system is no preventive of this tendency, at least not with students of college and university age. Student labor is now a laboratory effort, comparable with laboratory work in medicine or mechanic arts. The mature student must have some other reason for laboring than merely a rule that labor is required. However, it is yet largely an unsolved problem with the agricultural colleges as to just how the stirring business side of farming can be sufficiently correlated with the courses of study to keep the student in touch and sympathy with affairs. With the passing of compulsory student labor there has no doubt been a reaction in the direction of too little utilization of the college farm in schemes of education; but we shall now get back to the farm again, but this time on a true educational basis.

Nothing is more significant of the development of the agricultural colleges than the recent splitting up of the professorships. From agricultural chemistry as a beginning, in one form or another, there have issued a dozen chairs, first one subject and then another being separated as a teachable and administrative entity. Even the word "agriculture" is now being dropped from the professorships, for this is a term for a multitude of enterprises, not for a concrete subject. Horticulture was one of the first protuberances to be lopped off; and even this must very soon be divided into its component parts, for there is little relationship between the effort that grows apples and that grows orchids or between the market garden and landscape gardening. Even the chair of agronomy, the newest department of the colleges, must soon be separated into its units. Forty years ago mechanic arts was undivided. Who then would have prophesied such professorships as experimental engineering, electrical engineering, marine engineering, railroad engineering, naval architecture, machine design? The progress of the dividing up of the mechanic arts and civil engineering marks the rate of our progress, in the terms of the Land Grant Act, "to promote the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes in the several pursuits and professions in life." All trades, classes and professions are to be reached with a kind of education that is related to their work. One by one we are reaching persons in all walks and all places. Socially, there are centuries of prejudice against the farmer. When education is finally allowed to reach him in such a way as to be indispensable to him, it will at last have become truly democratic.

In this spirit agriculture is divided into its teachable units. The lists of divisions of the teaching force or curriculum in the larger agricultural colleges illustrate this admirably. In Illinois, for example, the title of professors and instructors are associated with such divisions as thremmatology, agronomy, pomology, olericulture, floriculture, soil physics, dairy husbandry, dairy manufacture, horses, beef cattle, swine husbandry, farm crops. At Cornell the coördinate departments of instruction in the College of Agriculture are classified as agricultural chemistry, economic entomology, soils, agronomy, horticulture, animal husbandry with its sub-department of poultry husbandry, dairy industry, agricultural engineering and architecture, the farm home, rural economy and sociology, out-door art (including landscape gardening), nature-study for teachers, besides miscellaneous courses—making altogether thirteen divisions. The courses now offered in the Cornell College of Agriculture, not including the winter-courses, are 76, of which 71 are to be given in the next academic year. Nearly all these courses comprise a half-year's work.

While all this subdividing represents progress there are disadvantages attending it, because it tends to give a partial view of the subject. The larger number of farmers must engage in general "mixed husbandry" rather than in specialties. Farming is a philosophy, not a mere process. The tendency of the inevitable subdividing of the subjects is to force the special view rather than the general view, as if, in medicine, students were to become specialists rather than general practitioners. The farm-philosophy idea was represented by the older teachers of agriculture. Of these men Professor Roberts is a typical example, and his work in making students to be successful, all-around farmers is not yet sufficiently appreciated. Much of this farm philosophy is now coming into the courses of instruction under the titles of rural economy, rural economics, rural sociology and the like. I have sometimes thought that the time may come when we will again have professors of "agriculture" who will coördinate and synthesize the work of the agronomist, soil physicist, chemist, dairyman and others. However, the dividing has not yet worked any harm, and perhaps my fears are ungrounded; and it is certain that with increasing knowledge and specialization the courses of instruction must still further divide.

Another most significant development in agricultural education is the change in attitude towards the college farm. Once it was thought that the college estate should be run as a "model farm." However, a farm that sets a pattern to the farmer must be conducted on a commercial basis; yet it is manifest that it is the province of a college to devote itself to education, not primarily to business. A farm cannot be a "model" for all the kinds of farming of the commonwealth; and if it does not represent fairly completely the agriculture of the state, it misses its value as a pattern. At all events the pattern-farm idea is practically given up. It is then a question whether the farm shall be used merely to "illustrate,"—to display kinds of tools, examples of fences and fields, breeds of stock. This conception of the college farm is comparable with the old idea of "experiments" in agricultural chemistry: the teacher performed the experiments for the students to see. The prevailing idea of the college farm is now (or at least, I think, soon must be) that it shall be used as a true laboratory, as the student in chemistry now works first-hand with his materials instead alone of receiving lectures and committing books. Is a student studying cattle? The herds are his for measurements, testing as to efficiency, studying in respect to heredity, their response to feeding, their adaptability to specific purposes, and a hundred other problems. Cattle are as much laboratory material for the agricultural student as rocks are for the geological student or plants for the botanical student. Technical books were once kept only in libraries; now they are kept also in laboratories and are laboratory equipment. College museums were once only for display; now they are also for actual use by the student. Barns are laboratories, to be as much a part of the equipment of a college of agriculture as shops are of mechanic arts. They should be in close connection with the main buildings, not removed to some remote part of the premises. Modern ideas of cleanliness and sanitation are bound to revolutionize the construction and care of barns. There is no reason why these buildings should be offensive. It was once thought that dissecting rooms and hospitals should be removed from proximity to other buildings; but we have now worked these laboratories integrally into the plans of colleges. Time has now come for a closer assembling of the college barns with the college classrooms. Likewise the entire farm is no doubt to be used in the future as a laboratory, at least in the institutions of university grade—except such part as is used for pure investigation and research. Where, then, shall the student go to see his model barn? To these farms themselves; here a stock farm; there a fruit farm; elsewhere a dairy farm. The shops in the colleges of mechanic arts have long since come to be true laboratories; they do not engage in railroading or manufacturing. They do not try to "pay their way;" if they do pay their way this fact is only an incidental or secondary consideration. A college of agriculture is a teaching institution: it must have equipment and laboratories.

It will be seen that the word "agriculture" has taken on a new and enlarged meaning. The farmer is not only a producer of commodities: he is a citizen, a member of the commonwealth, and his efficiency to society and the state depends on his whole outlook. Also his personal happiness depends on his outlook. He must concern himself not alone with technical farming, but also with all the affairs that make up an agricultural community: good roads, organizations, schools, mail routes, labor movements, rural architecture, sanitation, the æsthetic aspect of the country. One will be struck with the new signification of "agriculture" if he scan the titles of publications that issue from governmental agricultural departments, agricultural experiment stations, agricultural nature-study bureaus, agricultural colleges.

I cannot close this sketch without calling attention to the fact that the college of agriculture has obligations to the farmers of its commonwealth. The very fact that every college of agriculture in North America is supported by public funds imposes this obligation. Moreover, the colleges of agriculture and mechanic arts stand for true democratic effort, for they have a definite constituency that they are called upon to aid. It is desirable that as many persons as possible shall assemble at the college itself, but those who cannot go to college still have the right to ask for help. This is particularly true in agriculture, in which the interests are widely separated and incapable of being combined and syndicated. Thereupon has arisen the great "extension" movement that, in one way or another, is now a part of the work of every agricultural college. Education was once exclusive; it is now in spirit inclusive. The agencies that have brought about this change of attitude are those associated with so-called industrial education, growing chiefly out of the forces set in motion by the Land Grant Act of 1862. This Land Grant is the Magna Charta of education: from it in this country we shall date our liberties.

LEAFLET V.
SUGGESTIONS FOR NATURE-STUDY WORK.[6]
By ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

Suggestions for nature-study must necessarily be more or less general. Nature-study should be a matter of observation on the part of the pupils. The teacher's part is to indicate points for observation and not to tell what is to be seen.

After the child has observed all that it is possible for him to see, the remainder of the story may be told him or may be read.

The objects of nature-study should be always in the teacher's mind. These are, primarily, to cultivate the child's power of observation and to put him in sympathy with out-of-door life.

Having these objects clearly in mind, the teacher will see that the spending of a certain amount of time each day giving lessons is not the most important part of the work. A great amount of nature-study may be done without spending a moment in a regular lesson. In the case of all the things kept in the schoolroom—i. e., growing plants, insects in cages and aquaria, tame birds and domestic animals—the children will study the problems for themselves. The privilege of watching these things should be made a reward of merit.

The use of nature-study readers should be restricted. The stories in these should not be read until after the pupils have completed their own observations on the subjects of the stories.

Stories about adventures of animals and adventures with animals may always be read with safety, as these do not, strictly speaking, belong to nature-study. They belong rather to literature and may be used most successfully to interest the child in nature.

Blackboard drawings and charts should be used only to illustrate objects too small for the pupil to see with the naked eye. The pupil must also be made to understand that the object drawn on the board is a real enlargement of the object he has studied with his unaided eye.

The use of a simple lens often contributes much interest to the work of observation. The compound microscope may be used to show some exceptionally interesting point, as the compound eyes of insects, the scales on the butterfly's wing, or the viscid thread of the spider. But this is by no means necessary. Nature-study work does not actually require the use of either microscope or lens, although the latter is a desirable adjunct.

The great danger that besets the teacher just beginning nature-study is too much teaching, and too many subjects. In my own work I would rather a child spent one term finding out how one spider builds its orb web than that he should study a dozen different species of spiders.

If the teacher at the end of the year has opened the child's mind and heart in two or three directions nature-ward, she has done enough.

In teaching about animals, teach no more of the anatomy than is obviously connected with the distinctive habits of each one; i. e., the hind legs of a grasshopper are long so that it can jump, and the ears of a rabbit are long so that it can hear the approach of its foes.

While it is desirable for the teacher to know more than she teaches, in nature-study she may well be a learner with her pupils since they are likely any day to read some page of nature's book never before read by human eyes. This attitude of companionship in studying with her pupils will have a great value in enabling her to maintain happy and pleasant relations with them. It has also great disciplinary value.

Reasons for and against graded courses in nature-study.

The question whether there should be a graded course in nature-study is decidedly a query with two answers.

The reasons why there should not be a graded course, are:

1st. The work should be spontaneous and should be suggested each day by the material at hand. Mother Nature follows no schedule. She refuses to produce a violet one day, an oriole the next, and a blue butterfly on the third.

2d. A graded course means a hard and fast course which each teacher must follow whether or not her tastes and training coincide with it.

3d. There is no natural grading of nature-study work. A subject suited for nature-study may be given just as successfully in the first as in the fifth grade.

There is only one reason why a nature-study course should be graded, and that is so cogent that it outweighs all the reasons on the other side: the training of the grade teacher in nature-study is at present so limited in subject-matter that if the course were ungraded the same work would be given over and over in the successive grades until the pupils became utterly weary of it. To many a pupil in the lower grades to-day, nature-study means the sprouting of beans and peas and nothing more. As a matter of experience, we believe that after a nature-study subject is once studied it should be dropped entirely, the pupil should not again meet it in the schoolroom until he finds it in its respective science in the high school or college. On this account, we have been persuaded that a graded course, or at least a consecutive course, is necessary.

The following suggestions about grading the course are given with a hope of being helpful, and not because we believe that the courses indicated are necessarily the best courses possible. We have graded each subject so that a teacher may follow her own tastes and inclinations, and may not be forced to teach zoology when her interests are entirely with botany, or vice versa.

We have tried to give a distinctive trend to the observations for each year, and have suggested a line along which the work may be done.

As a matter of fact, however, the time to study any living thing is when you chance to find it. If you find an interesting caterpillar or cricket or bird, study it, whatever your grade of work. The probabilities are that it may be long before you chance upon these same species again.

It has been the experience of most teachers that the lower grades are much more interested in nature-study than are the higher. Especially are the seventh and eighth grades difficult to interest. Therefore, we have made this part of the course economic in its bearing, hoping that this may appeal to the grown-up feeling of pupils of these grades.

INSECTS.

First Grade.

The first year of work with insects may well be restricted to familiarizing the pupils with the three most striking phases in the life of insects with complete metamorphosis, i. e., the larvæ, the pupæ, and the winged insects. Moths and butterflies are especially adapted for this work with the small children.

Fall work.—In September there are still many caterpillars feeding. Bring them in the schoolroom and feed them in breeding cages. For different forms of cheap breeding cages, see Insect Life, pp. 326-330; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 5 ([No. XIX], this volume); Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 45.

During October many of the hairy caterpillars will be found hurrying along in quest of suitable winter quarters. These should be brought in and put in box cages having sand or dirt in the bottom. They are seeking secluded corners in which to curl up and hide during the cold weather. Some of them pass the winter in their cocoons, and some do not. Insect Life, pp. 239-241; Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 317-324; Moths and Butterflies, (b), pp. 191-198.

Bring in as many cocoons as possible. November or December, after the leaves have fallen from the trees, is the best time in which to hunt for the cocoons of Cecropia, Promethea, and Cynthia. Insect Life, pp. 194-196; Moths and Butterflies, (b), pp. 119-180.

Teach the pupils the difference between the cocoon and the pupa. The pupa is the quiescent form of the insect. The cocoon is the silken bag covering it, and is always made by the caterpillar before it changes to a pupa.

If possible bring in some butterfly larvæ. In September many may be found. The cabbage butterfly especially is always with us. Insect Life, p. 245. Also the larvæ of the black swallow-tail may be easily found. Insect Life, p. 243; Everyday Butterflies, p. 130; Moths and Butterflies, (b), p. 39.

Show the children (do not tell them) that the butterfly caterpillars do not make cocoons, but that the naked pupa is suspended by a silk button, and in some cases also by a silk thread.

Many teachers complain that but few of the moths are able to get out of the cocoons. The usual reason for this is that in the heated atmosphere of the schoolroom the cocoons become too dry. To obviate this, the cocoons should be dipped in water every week or two.

Spring work.—During the spring term use the apple-tree tent-caterpillars. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 5 ([No. XIX], this volume); Moths and Butterflies, (b) p. 201. Show the four stages of the insect: egg, caterpillar, pupa, and moth. Pay especial attention to the way in which the caterpillars grow.

Summary of methods.—This whole year's work may be done with no regular "lessons," and all the time required will be the care of the breeding cages and the time given to hunting for the caterpillars and cocoons. The child's reading may be selected from the many stories of the caterpillars, moths and butterflies. Yet be very careful to make each child understand that he himself is studying out the especial story of each caterpillar and cocoon in the schoolroom.

Second Grade.

The plan for the second year is to continue the study of the life-histories of insects. The pupil, having learned the different stages of the moths and butterflies, should learn that all insects do not experience such marvelous changes of form.

Fall work.—Arrange a breeding cage like figs. [288], [289], Insect Life, p. 329, placing fresh sod in the flower pot and covering the lamp chimney with a square of wire netting. Push the glass chimney down into the earth so as to allow no crevices through which the insects may escape. In such a cage, place grasshoppers and crickets of all sizes, and study their growth. Insect Life, pp. 33-37.

Show the pupils that the young grasshopper looks like the old one except that the wings are shorter; the same is true of crickets. Keep the sod damp so the grass will not become dry; and when it gets too old replace it with other sod. A good way to keep these insects alive and to keep the children interested in them is to plant wheat and grass seed in several flower pots, and then to move the glass chimney from pot to pot, giving the insects fresh pasturage when needed.

As early as possible start some aquaria. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 11 ([No. XII], this volume); Insect Life, pp. 330-332.

The mosquito is one of the most available insects for study in the aquarium. Insect Life, pp. 131-136; Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 12.

The nymphs of dragon flies and damsel flies and many others may be studied during the entire winter. Insect Life, pp. 140-142; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 11 ([No. XII], this volume); Outdoor Studies, p. 54. Those that have cannibalistic habits should be kept apart, each one in a separate jar. They may be fed by dropping into the jar a bit of raw beefsteak tied to the end of a string. The purpose of the string is that the uneaten meat may be withdrawn before it decays. It should not be left in the water more than twenty-four hours. The insects do not need feeding more than twice a week.

Spring work.—In the spring get new material for the aquaria. In pools where there are many dead leaves look for the caddice worms that build the log cabin cases, for these may be kept in aquaria that have no running water. Insect Life, p. 149.

While we advise the introduction of the aquaria during the second year, their use should be continued during the following four grades; there are always new things to study in ponds and streams, and nothing so fascinates a child as watching the movements of these little denizens of the water.

Summary of methods.—There need be no set lessons in the work of the second year, unless the teacher in a few words, now and then, chooses to call attention to certain things as the occasion seems to demand. The object of the year's work is to teach the pupil the life histories of insects which have no quiescent or pupa stage, and this should be accomplished by simple observation of specimens bred in the schoolroom.

Third Grade.

The general subject of this year's work may well be the Homes of Insects. This is a most interesting topic, and if well taught will inspire the pupils to much individual observation and collecting.

The questions to be asked concerning insect homes are:

Of what material are they made? How are they made? What is the purpose of the home? Is it made by the insect for itself to live in, or is it made by the mother for the protection of her young? Is it made as a protection for the insects while they are eating, or do they go out to feed and come back only to rest and spend the night or day?

Fall work.—Leaf rollers: Insect Life, p. 206; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 119.

Leaf miners: Insect Life, p. 208; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 29.

Galls: Insect Life, p. 210; Outdoor Studies, pp. 18, 38-39.

Fall web worm: Insect Life, p. 200.

Scallop shell moth: Insect Life, p. 201.

Nests of silver spotted skipper: Insect Life, p. 203; Everyday Butterflies, p. 190.

Bag worms: Insect Life, p. 204. Ant lions: Outdoor Studies, p. 81.

Carpenter bees: Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 108.

Tiger beetle larvæ: Insect Life, pp. 270-272.

All kinds of cocoons are found by the children. Ask concerning the cocoons: Where did you find them? Were they in protected places? Why?

Of these nests there are many more than those mentioned above. In fact, to one who sees what he looks at, every plant, every tree, every fence corner and every foot along the country path contains many most interesting homes. The leaf rollers and leaf miners are the most common and most easily found of all.

Spring work.—The spring work in this subject may be to study the way in which caddice worms make their houses; take a caddice worm out of its house and watch it build another. This is a new phase of the study of caddice worms. Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 133.

Study the homes of beetles under sticks and stones, and find the homes of the engraver beetles under bark. Insect Life, p. 216. This work must necessarily be done by the pupils out of school hours, and their discoveries and specimens of homes should be made topics for lessons for the whole school.

During this term begin a butterfly calendar, made on the same plan as the bird calendar. A collection of butterflies might be started for the schoolroom in connection with the calendar. Study the specimens caught and determine whether they hibernated as adults or chrysalids. If their wings are battered and torn, they spent the winter as adults. If they are bright in colors and their wings perfect, they spent the winter in the chrysalis state.

Hints for collecting insects: Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 7 ([No. XVIII], this volume); Insect Life, pp. 283-314 and pp. 48-49. How to Know the Butterflies.

Summary of methods.—The work in the third grade, as outlined, requires a lesson period now and then when single specimens are brought in by individual pupils. Each pupil should examine the specimen, and after that the lesson may be given.

Fourth Grade.

After having studied Insect Homes, the pupils will be ready to take up the broader subject, How Insects Live. The work of this year may be given on this subject.

In order to study the life-histories of insects, the pupils should know some things about insect anatomy. If the work as indicated in the previous grades has been followed, the pupils know the number of legs, wings, and compound eyes most insects have, without ever having killed a specimen or having received a special lesson in insect anatomy. Now teach the children how insects breathe and how they eat. Show the spiracles on the body of any caterpillar which is not hairy; they may be seen on the abdomen of a grasshopper or of a butterfly that has not too many large scales to cover them.

After they have seen these spiracles or breathing pores, give a lesson, illustrated by chart or blackboard, showing that these holes lead to the breathing tubes of the body. Manual for the Study of Insects, pp. 73-75.

To show how insects eat, allow the pupils to watch the following insects in the breeding cages while feeding: a grasshopper; a leaf beetle (potato beetle is a good example); any caterpillar; an ant; and a wasp. Show that all these have mouth parts made for biting. Let the pupils see an aphid sucking the juice of a plant; this may be done by bringing in a twig infested by aphids. Let the pupils see the water bugs in the aquarium eat. Insect Life, pp. 123-131, and pp. 137-140. Let them watch a fly, a honey bee, and, if possible, a butterfly or moth, eat. All these have mouth parts made for sucking. All this work should be original investigation on the part of the pupils.

After the pupils find out how insects breathe and eat, let them see how each insect lives a life adapted to its own peculiar needs. Try to feed some cabbage worms on clover or grass. Then try turnip or mustard leaves, and watch the result. Change the potato beetle larvæ to some other plant, and watch the result.

Let the pupils first find out how the insects breathe in the water. Each insect in the aquarium tells a different story as to its way of getting air. The teacher will find all these stories indicated in the chapters in Insect Life devoted to pond and brook insects.

Call especial attention to protective coloring of insects. Show that when an insect resembles its surroundings in color it is thereby enabled to escape its enemies; or, if need be, is enabled to creep upon its prey unobserved.

Note the color of the grasshopper in the road; color of meadow grasshopper; color of the caterpillars of the cabbage butterfly (green and hard to find). Notice the shape and color of walking sticks; color of the katydids. Note the bright color of the larvæ of potato beetle. Why? (They are distasteful to birds, and their colors advertise the fact.) Study the Monarch butterfly and the Viceroy. Everyday Butterflies, p. 95 and p. 297; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 39. Bring out strongly in all this work that the insect in order to live must have its special food plant and must escape notice of its enemies. This is the proper place to begin the study of the valuable work done by birds in destroying insects.

In addition to this general work, study especially the wasps.

Solitary Wasps: Mud daubers. Bring in their nests and examine them. Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 96. How are the nests provisioned, and for what purpose were they made? Find, if possible, nests of other solitary wasps. Insect Life, p. 218, p. 262, p. 264.

Social Wasps: Bring in a deserted nest of yellow-jackets. Of what is it made? How? What for? Do the wasps store honey? Do they live as a colony during the winter? All these questions may be answered by a pupil who knows of a yellow-jackets' nest in the fall and watches it during the winter. For the teacher there are discussions of these insects in Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 660-664. Wasps and their Ways.

Continue the butterfly collection and the butterfly calendar.

Spring work.—In the spring, begin a collection of moths for the schoolroom. Insect Life, p. 50. Caterpillars and Moths.

In the spring, notice when the first house-flies appear. What happens to the house-fly in winter? (Send for Circular No. 35, second series, Div. of Entomology of Department of Agriculture, Washington, D. C., for the life-history of the house-fly.) Explain that one female destroyed early in the season means thousands fewer late in the season.

Encourage the children to bring to the schoolroom all sorts of flies and compare them with the house-fly. The object of this is to teach something of the wonderful variety of forms among small and inconspicuous insects. Make a collection of flies for the schoolroom. For description of flies, see Insect Life, pp. 83-84.

A good plan for the spring work is to keep the pupils interested in the first appearance, after the vicissitudes of winter, of each insect which it is possible for them to find. Note that insects do not appear before their food plants appear.

Summary of objects and methods.—The questions to be answered during the whole year's work are: How do the Insects live,—on what do they feed? How do they escape their enemies? What happens to them in winter? How are the new broods started in the spring? The work is chiefly observation, but occasional lessons may be given and stories may be told to keep the interest in the work from flagging.

Fifth Grade.

Fall work.—Study the Bees and Ants.

Fit up ants' nests. Insect Life, p. 278.

Teach the whole life-history by allowing the pupils to colonize the nests. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 633-639; Insect Life, p. 271. Make observations upon the eggs, pupæ, workers, males, females. What are the winged forms that appear in swarms in June and July.

Let the pupils observe the relation of ants to aphids. This may be done on almost any shrub or roadside plant. Home Nature-Study Lesson 1904, No. 8.

The teacher should read Sir John Lubbock's "Ants, Bees and Wasps."

Many stories on these subjects may be told and read, especially those concerning the habits of exotic ants and ant wars which the children are not likely to see; also of the slave-making ants. These slave-making ants are quite common in New York State; their nests may be found under stones. They resemble the brown mound-builder ant; the slaves are black.

Spring work.—In the spring work in this grade, study the habits of the honey bee. An observation hive is desirable but not necessary. Bring in the honeycomb filled with honey. If there are apiarists in your neighborhood, they will gladly give you specimens of brood in the comb. Read The Bee People and the Manual for Study of Insects, p. 673.

Develop all the facts of the wonderful life in the hive by letting the pupils observe them as far as possible. Then give them the many interesting stories:

Story of the Workers.

Story of the Queen.

Story of the Drone.

Story of the Bee Larva.

Story of Honey Making.

Story of Wax and Comb Making.

Story of the Swarm.

In connection with the study of the honey bee, study the bumble bee. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 672-673; Insect Life, p. 256. Begin with the study of the big queen that appears in May or June. Show that she is of great benefit to us and must not be harmed or frightened. Let the bumble bee's nest be a problem for summer observation, and finish the study in the next grade in the fall.

Summary of objects and methods.—The work of this year should have for its objects the harmonious life of social insects; their unselfish work for each other; their devotion to their respective colonies; their ways of building and of defending their habitations.

The work should be based upon observations made by the pupils in and out of the schoolroom. Many lessons should be given, mostly in the form of stories. Ways of the Six-Footed, pp. 55-94.

Sixth Grade.

Fall work.—Study the spiders. Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 103; Insect Life, pp. 223-232. Cornell Teachers' Quarterly, final number ([No. XV], this volume).

In order to study spiders, they need not be handled with bare hands. While all spiders are venomous to the same extent, perhaps, that a mosquito or a bee is venomous, there is only one species in the eastern United States (and that is very rare) the bite of which need be feared by human beings.

The use of spiders in nature-study does not have to do with handling living specimens, but rather with the habits of the different species and the building of the webs. In catching spiders to bring into the schoolroom, use the method indicated by Professor Kellogg in Nature-Study Lessons. Capture the specimen by the use of a pill box: take the box in one hand and the cover in the other, and catch the spider by suddenly closing the box over it.

The pupils should be made to observe the chief differences between spiders and insects; i. e., spiders have two regions of the body instead of three as in insects; eight legs instead of six, simple eyes instead of compound. Compare spiders with daddy-long-legs.

If the teacher chooses to kill a specimen and show the arrangement of the eyes and the spinnerets under the microscope, she may do so. This is not necessary, although I have seen it done successfully in the sixth grade. Diagrams and blackboard drawings may be used instead of the microscope.

Let the pupils observe the uses of silk by the spider:

1. Snare for prey. 2. To enwrap prey when first entangled. 3. Nests for eggs. 4. Lining for habitations. 5. Means of locomotion.

Introduce the grass spider into the schoolroom in glass jars containing grass sod, and let the pupils observe it at work.

Encourage a study of cobwebs. Capture the owner of an orb web, and bring it in a glass jar to the schoolroom. Try to give it its natural environment; i. e., some sort of frame or branch of tree on which it may fasten its web.

The orb web: 1. How is it made? 2. Of how many kinds of silk? 3. The way the spiral thread is arranged as shown by drawings. 4. The position of the spider on the web. 5. The way the spider passes from one side of the web to the other. 6. The way it treats its prey when the victim is once entangled.

The engineering ability shown in making this web is one of the most marvelous things in all the realm of animal life. These observations may well cover two months of this term.

Study the ballooning spiders, the jumping spiders, the running spiders, and the crab spiders. Study as many egg-sacs of spiders as possible.

Another topic for study during the fall term is the Songs of Insects. Insect Life, p. 235. Bring in the katydids, crickets, and meadow grasshoppers, place them in cages containing green sod, and observe them while they are singing. Note that only the males sing. Show the ears of the crickets, katydids, and meadow grasshoppers in the elbows of their front legs. The ear of the grasshopper is on the side of the segment of the abdomen next to the thorax. Ways of the Six-Footed, pp. 3-27.

Study snowy tree cricket. Manual for Study of Insects, p. 118.

If possible, get a cicada as these insects continue to sing through the warm days of September. Show the cover to the drums on the lower side of the common cicada. Cornell Nature-Study Bulletin, No. 1, p. 24 ([No. VI], this volume). This can be made a most interesting subject, and pupils should be encouraged to do observation work outside of school.

Begin a general collection for schoolroom.

Spring work.—Continue making a general collection for the schoolroom, and specialize in this direction. When an insect is brought in and added to the collection, if the teacher knows the insect, a lesson should be given on its life and habits. This connecting of the life and habits of the insects with the collection of dead specimens is of greater value from a nature-study point of view than the collection itself.

Summary of methods.—While this year's work must be based on the observations of the pupils in the schoolroom and out-of-doors, yet many interesting lessons may be given by the teacher.

Seventh Grade.

The study of this entire year may be the relation of insects to flowers. Most of the references are given in the Plant-life work for this grade.

The insect work may be limited to: What insects visit flowers? How do they carry pollen? How does each kind of insect reach the nectar? Which insects are robbers, and which are true pollen carriers? The use of pollen by insects. Outdoor Studies, pp. 7-12.

Take up the study of golden rod and its insect visitors, i. e., let the pupils watch a bunch of golden rod and note all the insect visitors. For directions concerning this work see Outdoor Studies, pp. 29-46.

In the same way take up the study of asters and the late flowers, and their insect visitors. Describe the visitor; what it does; what part of the plant it visits.

Summary of objects and methods.—The object of this whole year's work is to show the beautiful inter-relation between insects and flowers. The studies must necessarily be made in the field. But many delightful lessons may be given on the structure of flowers, that make of greatest use to the flowers the work of insect visitors.

Eighth Grade.

The object of this year's work is the economic side of insect-study. Many pupils do not continue these studies to high school or college. Yet if they have homes with gardens or trees in city or country, they must learn to cope with the many insect enemies that feed upon cultivated plants. They should also learn to discriminate between insect friends and foes. They should learn the best methods of combating the foes and preserving the friends.

Explain first that in fighting an insect enemy we must know how it eats. If it inserts its beak in the stem of the plant there is no use trying to kill it by putting poison on the leaves.

Common Insect Foes.

To be studied in the schoolroom:

Fall work.—Codlin-moth. Insect Life, p. 180. Show work on an apple, and give methods of destroying it.

Plum curculio. Insect Life, p. 182.

The pomace flies. Insect Life, p. 184.

Scale insects. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 165-174.

Potato beetle. Manual for Study of Insects, p. 176.

Spring work.—Tussock moths and canker worms. Circular No. 9, 2d Series, Dept. Agr., Div. of Ent., Washington, D. C.; Cornell Teachers' Circular, No. 1.

Cabbage worms. How to Know the Butterflies.

Currant worms. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 613-614.

Plant lice or aphids. Insect Life, pp. 177-178.

Carpet beetle. Circular No. 5, 2d Series, Dept. Agr., Washington, D. C.; Manual for Study of Insects, p. 539.

Clothes moth. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 257-258; Circular No. 36, 2d Series, Dept. Agr., Washington, D. C.

Tent caterpillar. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 5 ([No. XIX], this volume).

A study of spraying should be made. Insects and Insecticides, pp. 39-56. Spray Calendar, distributed free by the Cornell Agricultural Experiment Station.

Important Insecticides. Farmers' Bulletin No. 127, Dept. Agr., Washington, D. C.

Insect Friends.

Fall work.—Lady bugs. Insect Life, p. 179.

Aphis lions. Insect Life, p. 178; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 125.

Red clover and the bumble bee.

Parasitic insects. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 621-630.

Spring work.—Bees and orchard in blossom.

Summary of methods.—The observations may be made in the schoolroom or out-of-doors. There should be observations of experiments in spraying. This may be accomplished in most localities by encouraging the pupils to visit orchards undergoing the operation of spraying. However, by means of syringe or watering pot, the infested plants brought into the schoolroom may be sprayed and the results noted. Lessons should be given on the importance of preserving insect friends while we are destroying insect enemies.

OTHER ANIMALS ADAPTED FOR NATURE-STUDY.

The Toad and Frog. The study of either of these two species is delightful spring work for any grade. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 9 ([No. XVI], this volume); Wilderness Ways, p. 25.

Salamanders or Efts. Familiar Life of the Roadside.

Fishes. Observations upon goldfish or minnows kept in an aquarium should be made the basis of lessons upon the life of fishes. Study: (1) The shape of the body; see how it is especially adapted to rapid movement through the water. (2) The shape and arrangement of the fins, and their uses. (3) How the fish propels itself through the water. (4) How the fish breathes. (5) The shape of the fish's mouth, and how and what it eats. (6) Experiment to ascertain the ability of the fish to see and hear. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 21 ([Nos. XIII] and [XXXVI], this volume).

Encourage observations of habits of different species of fish common in our ponds and streams. Study their eggs and the places where they are found. Teach the children the reason for the game laws, and impress upon them a true respect for those laws. Food and Game Fishes.

Mice. Some house mice in an improvised cage may be placed in the schoolroom, and the habits of the little creatures observed. Give them paper to see how they make their nests. Note how and what they eat, and how they clean themselves. Note shape of teeth and their use. If possible, study the wild mice. Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers, p. 111; Wild Life, p. 171.

Squirrels and Chipmunks. The work on these animals must be based on out-of-door observations. Try to get the pupils to discover for themselves answers to the following questions: How and where do they travel? What do they eat? Where and how do they carry their food? Do they store it for winter? If so, where? What do they do in winter? Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers, p. 15, p. 134; Wild Neighbors, p. 1.

Rabbits.—A domesticated rabbit should, if possible, be kept in the schoolyard so that the pupils may make their own observations upon its habits. Let them study: How and what it eats. The shape of its teeth. The form and use of the ears. How does it travel? What sort of tracks does it make, and why? From these observations lead the pupils to think of the life of the wild rabbit, how it is adapted to escape from its enemies and to get its food. Ways of Wood Folk, p. 41; Story of Raggylug.

Guinea pigs.—These little animals are easily kept in the schoolroom, and, though not particularly interesting in their habits, they prove attractive to the smaller children and may be studied in the same way as the other animals.

Domestic animals.—These need not be studied in the schoolroom, as the pupils, if they have opportunity, can make the observations at home. Studies of the horse, cow, pig, sheep, and goat, and also the cat and dog may be made most interesting. Such questions as these may be asked concerning each: What is the characteristic form of the animal? What is its clothing? What does it eat? How are its teeth adapted to its food? What is its chief use to man? How does it travel, slow or fast? How are its feet adapted to its way of running or walking? Has it a language? How many emotions can it express by sound? How many can it express by action? How does it fight, and what are its weapons? What sort of life did its wild ancestors live? How did they get their food, and how did they escape from their enemies?

Summary of methods of nature-study of animals.—Study only so much anatomy as is clearly adapted to the animal's ways of living. Observations made by the pupils should be arranged into lessons by either pupil or teacher. Such lessons make excellent English themes, and they may be adapted to any grade.

BIRDS.

Begin the study of birds by the careful study of some domesticated species that may be observed closely and for a long period. The hen is perhaps the best for this purpose. Study carefully all of the adaptations of her anatomy to her life necessities. Study shape of her body; the feathers; the bill; her food; how she eats; drinks; the shape of her feet; their covering; how she sees; hears; smells; sleeps; study the life of a chick; study the language of chick, hen and cock; embryology of a chick. Study a robin or some bird that builds near houses. Note all its habits from the time it appears in spring until autumn. Bird houses and bird protection. Usefulness of birds. Our Native Birds, Lange. Publications of U. S. Dept. Agr.

Summary of methods.—It is much more important that the pupil know the habits of one species than that he should know by name many species. Therefore encourage patient watching and careful observation concerning the things which birds do. Such observations may be made into lessons by pupil or by teacher for the benefit of all the pupils. First Book of Birds, and Second Book of Birds; Bird Lore; The Story of the Birds; Bird Neighbors.

PLANTS.

First Grade.

Fall term.—Let the children study the different forms and the colors of leaves. By no means teach the botanical terms for all the shapes of leaves; simply let the children gather and bring in all the different kinds of leaves they can find. Let them draw the different forms in their blank books. Press leaves and mount them.

The object of this work is to give the child an idea of the great number of leaf forms and colors, and to get him interested in observing them. References: Botany, Bailey, pp. 90-100; Lessons with Plants, pp. 79-90; Gray's How Plants Grow, chapter on Leaves and Forms of Leaves; Elements of Botany, pp. 89-93.

Winter and spring terms.—Let the children study vegetables. The following questions should be answered concerning a vegetable. What part of the plant is it? Does it grow below or above ground? What sort of leaf has it? What sort of flower? What sort of fruit or seed? Lessons with Plants, pp. 353, 356, 364; First Studies, pp. 50, 51, 174; Botany, Bailey, pp. 31-37; Cornell Teachers' Quarterly, No. 7 ([No. XXXIX], this volume).

Second Grade.

Teach the use of the flower. Do this by bringing in all flowers possible, and show that as the flower fades the fruit becomes evident. Let the pupils observe for themselves the fact that the flower exists for the sake of the fruit. Interest the pupils in all kinds of fruits and seeds. This is not the place to teach seed dispersion, but simply the forms and colors of fruits and seeds. Let the pupils also observe that insects carry pollen from flower to flower. Do not give the explanation of this to children of this age, but let them see the bees at work.

For this work see Plant World, by Mrs. Bergen, pp. 80-107.

Let the pupils observe the following things in plant physiology:

Flowers sleep: Botany, Bailey, p. 50; Lessons with Plants, p. 402; Plants, Coulter, pp. 9, 10, 48; Elements of Botany, p. 98.

Plants turn toward the light: Elements of Botany, p. 100; Botany, Bailey, p. 50; First Studies, p. 136.

Effect of frost on flowers and leaves.

Winter and spring work.—Seed germination: First Studies, pp. 1-24; Lessons with Plants, pp. 316-331; Botany, Bailey, pp. 164-171; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 1 ([No. XXVIII], this volume); Plants, p. 307; Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 22.

Let the pupils observe in the field: Position of leaves when first open. A Reader in Botany, by Newell, Part I, p. 84.

Position of leaves and flowers in the rain. First Studies, p. 135; Elements of Botany, pp. 175-176; Plants, p. 51.

Third Grade.

Fall work.—The fall work of this grade may be (1) The way flowers make fruit, i. e., the way the fruit is formed from the flower. (2) The dispersion of seeds.

Fruits. First Studies, pp. 168-171; Lessons with Plants, pp. 251-310; Botany, Bailey, pp. 147-157.

Seed dispersion. First Studies, p. 176; Plant World, pp. 133-156; Little Wanderers, by Morley; Seed Dispersal, by Beal; Cornell Teachers' Quarterly, No. 2 ([No. VIII], this volume); Seed Travelers, by Weed; Botany, Bailey, p. 158.

Let the pupils observe: "How some plants get up in the world." First Studies, p. 150; Lessons with Plants, p. 396; Botany, Bailey, p. 108.

Spring work.—Opening of the buds. Lessons with Plants, pp. 48-63; First Studies, p. 33.

Arrangement of buds. Lessons with Plants, pp. 63-69.

Expansion of bark. Lessons with Plants, pp. 69-72.

Fourth Grade.

The object of this year's work may be the teaching of the value of earth, air, light, and water upon plants.

Fall work.—Experiments to show these to be carried on in schoolroom. Experiments to show value of earth to plants:

(1) Plant seeds in fertile earth; poor earth; clean sand or sawdust.

(2) Plant seeds in sawdust and on cotton batting placed on water in a jar.

Experiments to show use of light to plants:

(1) Sow seeds in two boxes of earth prepared just alike. Place one in the window, one in a dark closet, and note results.

(2) Place house plants from greenhouse in a window, and note change of position of leaves.

(3) The story of the sunflower.

Experiments showing use of water to plants:

(1) Place a very much wilted cut plant in water, and note result.

(2) Place seeds in earth which is dry, and in earth which is kept moist.

(3) Plant seeds on batting floating on a tumbler of water, and note results.

These experiments should extend over several weeks.

Winter and spring work.—Begin the study of trees. Choose some tree in the schoolyard, if possible, and make this the basis of the work. The following is an outline for the study of a maple tree: Begin observations in January. Make drawings of the tree, showing the relations of branches to trunk and general outline. Note the following details: The color of trunk and branches in January, and the color in February and March; when the buds begin to swell; the arrangement of buds; watch closely to determine whether a bud develops into a blossom or a leaf; the peculiarities of bark on trunk and branches; do the leaves or the blossoms appear first; the shape and color of the blossoms; draw them and study them thoroughly; the color and position of the leaves when they first appear; draw the different stages of the unfolding of the leaves; keep a calendar of all the year's history of the tree; when in full leaf make another drawing of the whole tree; study the tree from below, and if possible from above, to show arrangement of leaves in reference to light; make drawings of the fruit when it is formed; study how it travels; when the first autumn tints appear; make colored drawings of the tree in its autumn foliage, and note when leaves begin to fall and when the branches are finally bare; note different form of maple in the open and maple in the forest.

In connection with the year's history of the tree, study the tree from an economic point of view. Make a special study of sugar-making in connection with the maple tree. Study maple wood. To do this get a quarter section of a piece of maple log and study the grain lengthwise and in cross sections. Study all the industries possible in which maple is used. Devote one notebook to all the work on the maple tree, and at the end summarize the observations. For drawing of trees, see Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 12 ([Nos. XXIX] and [XXX], this volume). Home Nature-Study, Vol. V, Nos. 2, 5.

Fifth Grade.

The work during this grade may be devoted to plant physiology. For this work use First Studies of Plant Life, Atkinson. The experiments described in this book are simple and excellent; they give the pupil definite knowledge of the life processes of plants, and the use to the plant of roots, stems, leaves, flowers, and fruit.

Continue studies of trees. Select some other species than the one studied during the last grade. Study it in the same way. Note the differences between the two. Two or three contrasting species may thus be studied.

Sixth Grade.

Having studied in the previous year the uses of different parts of the plant, the pupil will be fitted now to take up the general subject of weeds.

Take some common forms and let the pupils observe that they grow where other plants do not grow, or that they drive out other plants; then study the special reasons why each kind of weed is able to do these things. Botany, Bailey, pp. 214-222; Elements of Botany, pp. 196-205.

During the autumn another subject for study in this grade is Mushrooms. Lead the pupils to see how these flowerless plants produce seed, and let them bring in as many forms as possible. Do not try to teach which mushrooms are poisonous. Lessons with Plants, p. 347; Mushrooms, by Atkinson.

Winter work.—Evergreen trees. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 13 ([No. XXXIII], this volume).

Spring work.—The spring work may well be the making of a calendar for trees and plants. Keep a record each day of the leafage of plants, the appearance of weeds, and the appearance of blossoms of fruit trees and all common flowers. Record which appear first, leaves or blossoms.

This work will be good preparation for the study of the "struggle for existence," which comes in the next grade.

Seventh Grade.

The work for this year, both fall and spring, may be the study of the cross fertilization of flowers. Choose a few of the common flowers, and let the pupils study the means by which pollen is carried from flower to flower.

In studying any flower fertilized by insects always ask: Where is the nectary? Where in relation to the nectary are the stigma and the anthers? What path must the insect follow in order to get the nectar? Do the flowers attract insects by color? By fragrance? What insects do you find visiting the flowers studied? Lessons with Plants, pp. 224-245; Plants, Coulter, pp. 109-137; Elements of Botany, pp. 182-196; Readers in Botany, Newell, Part II, p. 86; Plant World, Bergen, pp. 57-127; Ten New England Blossoms, Weed.

The cross fertilization of flowers is only one adaptation for succeeding in the struggle for existence.

Study as many other ways of insuring the continuance of a plant as is possible. Botany, Bailey, pp. 197-217; Lessons with Plants, pp. 15-20; Elements of Botany, pp. 199-212.

Study plant communities. Botany, Bailey, pp. 219-227; Plant Relations, pp. 146, 162, 168; Plant Structures, p. 313; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 19 ([No. XXXV], this volume).

Eighth Grade.

It seems to be the experience of most teachers that pupils of the seventh and eighth grades are with difficulty kept interested in nature-study. This is probably due to the fact that the methods suited to earlier grades are not suited to these. Pupils of this age, now feeling "grown up," are attracted only by more mature work. They may be interested in some of the following subjects:

Horticulture and Gardening.—Cornell Teachers' Leaflets. Garden-Making; The Pruning-Book; The Principles of Fruit-Growing; The Principles of Vegetable-Gardening, all by Bailey. Plant Culture, by Goff.

Forestry.—Relations of forests to preservation of rain-fall and streams. Preservation of Forests. Use of Forests. Reforesting waste lands, etc. A Primer of Forestry by Pinchot, United States Department Agriculture. A First Book of Forestry, Roth.

Ferns.—Study and make collections of all the ferns of the locality. Make drawings of each fern and its fruiting organs, and press and mount the specimens with full accounts of habits and locality of the plant. How to Know the Ferns, Mrs. Parsons; Gray's Botany; Our Ferns, Clute.

BIBLIOGRAPHY.[7]

Insects.

Every Day Butterflies. S. H. Scudder. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $2.00.

Insect Life. J. H. Comstock. D. Appleton & Co. $1.25.

Lessons in Nature-Study. Jenkins & Kellogg. W. B. Harrison, $1.00.

Manual for Study of Insects. J. H. Comstock. Comstock Pub. Co. $3.75.

Moths and Butterflies. (a) Julia P. Ballard. Putnam's Sons. $1.50.

Moths and Butterflies. (b) Mary C. Dickerson. Ginn & Co. $2.50.

Stories of Insect Life. Weed & Murtfeldt. Ginn & Co. 35 cents.

Outdoor Studies. James B. Needham. American Book Co. 40 cents.

Bee People. Margaret W. Morley. A. C. McClurg. $1.25.

The Butterfly Book. W. J. Holland. Doubleday, Page & Co. $3.00.

Caterpillars and Their Moths. Eliot and Soule. The Century Co. $2.00.

Wasps and Their Ways. Margaret W. Morley. Dodd, Mead & Co. $1.50.

The Ways of the Six-Footed. Anna Botsford Comstock. Ginn & Co. 40 cents.

How to Know the Butterflies. J. H. and Anna Botsford Comstock. D. Appleton & Co. $2.25.

Animals Other Than Insects.

Animal Life. Jordan & Kellogg. D. Appleton & Co. $1.25.

Familiar Fish. Eugene McCarthy. D. Appleton & Co. $1.50.

Story of the Fishes. James N. Baskett. D. Appleton & Co. 65 cents.

Familiar Life of the Roadside. Schuyler Mathews. D. Appleton & Co. $1.75.

Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers. John Burroughs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

Wild Life in Orchard and Field. Harper & Bros. Wild Neighbors. The Macmillan Co. Ernest Ingersoll. $1.50 each.

Kindred of the Wild. Roberts. L. C. Page. $2.00.

Wild Life Near Home. Dallas Lore Sharp. The Century Co. $2.00.

Four Footed Americans. Wright. The Macmillan Co. $1.50.

American Animals. Stone & Cram. Doubleday, Page & Co. $4.00.

Food and Game Fishes. Jordan & Evermann. Doubleday, Page & Co. $4.00.

Various books that deal with animals from the story or narrative point of view will be found to be interesting and helpful. They are often useful in arousing an interest in the subject. There are many good animal books not mentioned in the above list.

Birds.

Bird Homes. A. R. Dugmore. Doubleday, Page & Co. $2.00.

Bird Life (with colored plates). Frank M. Chapman. D. Appleton & Co. $5.00.

Bird Neighbors. Neltje Blanchan. Doubleday, Page & Co. $2.00.

Birds of Village and Field. Florence Merriam. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $2.00.

First Book of Birds. Olive Thorne Miller. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

Second Book of Birds. Olive Thorne Miller. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

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LEAFLET VI.
A SUMMER SHOWER.[8]
By R. S. TARR.

A rainstorm comes, the walks are wet, the roads are muddy. Then the sun breaks through the clouds and soon the walks are no longer damp and the mud of the road is dried. Where did the water come from and where has it gone? Let us answer these questions.

A kettle on the stove is forgotten and soon a cracking is heard; the housewife jumps to her feet for the kettle is dry. The kettle was filled with water, but it has all boiled away; and where has it gone? Surely into the air of the room, for it can be seen issuing as "steam" and then disappearing from view, as if by magic. The heat of the fire has changed the liquid water to a gas as invisible as the air itself. This gas is water vapor.

Fig. 9. A glass of cold water on which vapor has condensed in drops.

Do you wish to prove that the water vapor is there, although unseen? Then, if the day is cool, watch the window and notice the drops of water collect upon it. Or, if the day is warm, bring an ice-cold glass or pitcher into the room and see the drops collect upon it ([Fig. 9]). People sometimes say, when drops of water collect on a glass of cold water, that the glass is "sweating;" but see whether the same thing will not happen with a cold glass that does not contain water.

These two simple observations teach us two very important facts: (1) That heat will change liquid water to an invisible vapor, or gas, which will float about in the air of a room; and (2) that cold will cause some of the vapor to change back to liquid water.

Let us observe a little further. The clothes upon the line on wash day are hung out wet and brought in dry. If the sun is shining they probably dry quickly; but will they not dry even if the sun is not shining? They will, indeed; so here is another fact to add to our other two, namely (3) that the production of vapor from water will proceed even when the water is not heated.

This change of water to vapor is called evaporation. The water evaporates from the clothes; it also evaporates from the walks after a rain, from the mud of the road, from the brooks, creeks and rivers, and from ponds, lakes, and the great ocean itself. Indeed, wherever water is exposed to the air some evaporation is taking place. Yet heat aids evaporation, as you can prove by taking three dishes of the same kind and pouring the same amount of water into each, then placing one on the stove, a second in the sun, and a third in a cool, shady place, as a cellar, and watching to see which is the last to become dry.

About three-fourths of the earth's surface is covered by water, so that the air is receiving vapor all the time. In fact, every minute thousands of barrels of water-vapor are rising into the atmosphere from the surface of the ocean. The air is constantly moving about, forming winds, and this load of vapor is, therefore, drifted about by the winds, so that the air you are breathing may have in it vapor that came from the ocean hundreds or even thousands of miles away. You do not see the vapor, you are perhaps not even aware that it is there; yet in a room 10 feet high and 20 feet square there is often enough vapor, if it could all be changed back to water to fill a two-quart measure.

There is a difference in the amount of vapor from time to time. Some days the air is quite free from it, and then clothes will dry rapidly. On other days the air is damp and humid; then people say it is "muggy," or that the "humidity is high." On these muggy days in summer the air is oppressive because there is so much vapor in it. Near the sea, where there is so much water to evaporate, the air is commonly more humid or moist than in the interior, away from the sea, where there is less water to evaporate.

We have seen that there is some vapor in all air, and that there is more at some times than at others. We have also seen how it has come into the air, and that cold will cause it to condense to liquid water on cold window panes and on water glasses. There are other ways in which the vapor may be changed to liquid.

After a summer day, even when there has been no rain, soon after the sun sinks behind the western horizon the grass becomes so damp that one's feet are wet in walking through it. The dew is "falling." During the daytime the grass is warmed by the sun; but when the sun is gone it grows cooler, much as a stove becomes cool when the fire is out. This cool grass chills the air near it and changes some of the vapor to liquid, which collects in drops on the grass, as the vapor condenses on the outside of a glass of ice water.

In the opposite season of the year, on a cold winter's day, when you step out of a warm house into the chilly air, a thin cloud, or fog, forms as you expel the air from your lungs, and you say that you can "see your breath." What you really see are the little drops of water formed as the vapor-laden breath is chilled on passing from the warm body to the cold air. The vapor is condensed to form a tiny mist.

Fig. 10. A wreath of fog settled in a valley with the hilltops rising above it.

Doubtless you have seen a wreath of fog settling in a valley at night; or in the morning you may have looked out upon a fog that has gathered there during the night ([Fig. 10]). If your home happens to be upon a hillside, perhaps you have been able to look down upon the fog nestled there like a cloud on the land, which it really is. Such a fog is caused in very nearly the same way as the tiny fog made by breathing. The damp air in the valley has been chilled until the vapor has condensed to form tiny mist or fog particles. Without doubt you can tell why this fog disappears when the sun rises and the warm rays fall upon it.

On the ocean there are great fogs, covering the sea for hundreds of miles; they make sailing dangerous, because the sailors cannot see through the mist, so that two vessels may run together, or a ship may be driven upon the coast before the captain knows it. Once more, this is merely condensed vapor caused by chilling air that has become laden with vapor. This chilling is often caused when warm, damp winds blow over the cold parts of the ocean.

This leads the way to an understanding of a rain storm; but first we must learn something about the temperature of the air. The air near the ground where we live is commonly warmer than that above the ground where the clouds are. People who have gone up in balloons tell us so; and now scientific men who are studying this question are in the habit of sending up great kites, carrying thermometers and other instruments, in order to find out about the air far above the ground.

Fig. 11. Fog clouds among the valleys in the mountains, only the mountain peaks projecting above them.

It is not necessary, however, to send up a kite or a balloon to prove this. If your home is among mountains, or even among high hills, you can prove it for yourself; for often, in the late autumn, when it rains on the lower ground, it snows upon the mountain tops, so that when the clouds have cleared away the surface of the uplands is robed in white ([Fig. 12]). In the springtime, or in the winter during a thaw, people living among these highlands often start out in sleighs on a journey to a town, which is in the valley, and before they reach the valley their horses are obliged to drag the sleigh over bare ground. It is so much warmer on the lower ground that the snow melts away much more quickly than it does among the hills.

The difference in temperature is, on the average, about one degree for every three hundred feet, so that a hill top rising twelve hundred feet above a valley would have an average temperature about four degrees lower than the valley. Now some mountains, even in New York, rise thousands of feet above the surrounding country. They rise high into the regions of cold air, so that they are often covered with snow long before any snow has fallen on the lowlands; and the snow remains upon them long after it has disappeared from the lower country ([Fig. 12]).

Fig. 12. A mountain whitened by snow on the top, while there is no snow at the base.

Fig. 13. A mountain peak snow capped, and covered on the very crest by a cloud.

Some mountains are so lofty that it never rains upon them, but snows instead; and they are never free from snow, even in mid-summer. If one climbs to the top of such peaks he finds it always very cold there. While he is shivering from the cold he can look down upon the green fields where the birds are singing, the flowers blossoming and the men, working in the fields, are complaining of the heat.

One who watches such a mountain as this, or in fact any mountain peak, will notice that it is frequently wrapped in clouds ([Fig. 13]). Damp winds blowing against the cold mountains are chilled and the vapor is condensed. If one climbs through such a cloud, as thousands of people have done when climbing mountains, he often seems to pass through nothing but a fog, for really many clouds are only fogs high in the air. ([Fig. 14]).

But very often rain falls from these clouds that cling to the mountain sides. The reason for this is easy to understand. As the air comes against the cold mountains so much vapor is condensed that some of the tiny fog particles grow larger and larger until they become mist particles, which are too heavy to float in the air. They then begin to settle; and as one particle strikes against another, the two unite, and this continues until perhaps a dozen have joined together so as to form a good-sized drop, which is so heavy that it is obliged to fall to the ground as rain.

Fig. 14. Clouds clinging to the mountain sides. If one were climbing these mountains he would find himself, in passing through the clouds, either in a fog or a mist.

Let us now look at our summer storms. These do not form about mountain peaks; yet what has been said about the mountains will help us to understand such showers.

It is a hot summer day. The air is muggy and oppressive, so that the least exertion causes a perspiration, and even in the shade one is uncomfortably hot. Soon great banks of clouds appear ([Fig. 15]),—the "thunder heads,"—and people say "a thunder shower is coming, so that we will soon have relief from this oppressive heat." The clouds draw near, lightning is seen and thunder heard, and from the black base of the cloud, torrents of water fall upon the earth. If we could have watched this cloud from the beginning, and followed it on its course, we would have seen some facts that would help explain it. Similar clouds perhaps began to form over your head in the early afternoon and drifted away toward the east, developing into thunder storms many miles to the east of you.

On such a day as this, the air near the ground is so damp that it gives up vapor easily, as you can prove by allowing a glass of ice water to stand on a table and watching the drops of water gather there, causing the glass to "sweat" ([Fig. 9]). The sun beats down upon the heated ground and the surface becomes like a furnace, so that the air near the ground is warmed.

Fig. 15. A "thunder head," or cumulus cloud.

Air that is warm is lighter than cool air, and, being lighter, will rise, for the heavy cool air will settle and push it up, as a chip of wood will rise in a pail of water, because it is lighter than the water which pushes it to the top. This is why the warm air rises from a furnace, or a stove, or a lamp. It is the reason why the hot air rises through a house chimney; undoubtedly you can find other illustrations, as ventilation, and can find abundant opportunity to prove that warm air will rise.

The warm, moist air near the ground becomes so light that the heavy air above settles down and pushes it up, so that an uprising current of air is formed above the heated ground, much as an uprising current of hot air rises through the chimney when the stove is lighted. Rising thousands of feet into the sky the warm air reaches such a height, and finally comes to a place so cool, that some of the vapor must be condensed, forming fog particles, which in turn form a cloud.

On such a day, if you will watch a cloud, you will notice that its base is flat ([Fig. 15]); and this flat base marks the height above ground where the temperature of the atmosphere is low enough to change the vapor to fog particles. Of course the air still rises somewhat above this base and continues to get cooler, and to have more and more vapor condensed. This makes a pile of clouds resting on a level base, but with rounded tops ([Fig. 15]). Sometimes the base of these summer clouds, called cumulus clouds, is a mile above the ground and their tops fully a mile higher than this.

Fig. 16. Photograph of a lightning flash.

Just as on the mountain side, where the drops grow larger until they must fall, so here, fog particles grow to drops of such a size that they are too heavy to float. This growth is often aided by the violent currents of air, which sometimes tumble and toss the clouds about so that you can see the commotion from the ground. These currents blow one particle against another, forming a single drop from the collision of two; then still others are added until the rain drop is so heavy that it must fall.

But sometimes the air currents are so rapid that the drops are carried on up, higher and higher, notwithstanding the fact that they are heavy. Then they may be carried so high, and into air so cold, that they are frozen, forming hail. These "hailstones" cannot sink to the ground until they are thrown out of the violent currents, when they fall to the ground, often near the edge of the storm.

Some hailstones are of great size; you will find it interesting to examine them. If you do this, notice the rings of clear and clouded ice that are often to be seen. These are caused when the hail, after forming, settles to a place where it melts a little, then is lifted again by another current, growing larger by the addition of more vapor. This continues until finally the ice ball sinks to the ground.

There is thunder and lightning in such storms. Few things in nature are grander than these, and those who will watch the lightning flash will see many beautiful and interesting sights ([Fig. 16]). Sometimes the flash goes from cloud to cloud, again from the cloud to the ground. No one knows exactly why the lightning comes; but we do know that it is an electric spark, something like that which one can often see pass from the trolley to the wire of an electric car line. The main difference is that the spark in a thunder storm is a powerful lightning bolt that passes over a space of thousands of feet and often does great damage where it strikes.

The thunder is a sound which may be compared to the crack heard when a spark passes from the trolley, though of course the noise is very much louder. The crack of the lightning echoes and reverberates among the clouds, often changing to a great rumble; but this rumbling is mainly caused by the echo, the sound from the lightning being a loud crack or crash like that which we sometimes hear when the lightning strikes near by.

Some of the vapor of the air, on condensing, gathers on solid objects like grass, or glass; but some, as fog, floats about in the air. Really this, too, is often gathered around solid objects. Floating about in the air are innumerable bits of "dust" which you can see dancing about in the sunlight when a sunbeam enters a dark room. Some of these "dust" particles are actual dust from the road, but much of it is something else, as the pollen of plants, microbes, and the solid bits produced by the burning of wood or coal.

Each bit serves as a tiny nucleus on which the vapor condenses; and so the very "dust" in the air aids in the formation of rain by giving something solid around which the liquid can gather. The great amount of dust in the air near the great city of London is believed to be one of the causes for the frequent fogs of that city.

That there is dust in the air, and that the rain removes it, is often proved when a dull hazy air is changed to a clear, bright air by a summer shower. Watch to find instances of this. Indeed, after such a hazy day, when the rain drops first begin to fall, if you will let a few drops fall upon a sheet of clean white paper, and then dry it, you will find the paper discolored by the dust that the rain brought with it. So the rain purifies the air by removing from it the solids that are floating in it.

These are only a few of the things of interest that you can see for yourself by studying the air. Watch the sky; it is full of interest. See what you can observe for yourself. Watch especially the clouds, for they are not only interesting but beautiful ([Fig. 17]). Their forms are often graceful, and they change with such rapidity that you can notice it as you watch them. Even in the daytime the colors and shadows are beautiful; but at sunrise and at sunset the clouds are often changed to gorgeous banks of color.

Fig. 17. A sky flecked with clouds high in the air.

Watch the clouds and you will be repaid; look especially for the great piles of clouds in the east during the summer when the sun is setting ([Fig. 18]). Those lofty banks, tinged with silver and gold, and rising like mountains thousands of feet into the air, are really made of bits of fog and mist. Among them vapor is still changing to water and rain drops are forming, while violent currents are whirling the drops about, and perhaps lifting them to such a height that they are being frozen into hailstones. Far off to the east, beneath that cloud, rain is falling in torrents, lightning is flashing and thunder crashing, though you cannot hear it because it is so far away.

Fig. 18. The cloud banks of a thunder storm on the horizon.

You see the storm merely as a brightly lighted and beautifully colored cloud mass in the sky; but the people over whom it is hanging find it a threatening black cloud, the source of a furious wind, a heavy rain, and the awe-inspiring lightning. To them it may not be beautiful, though grand in the extreme; and so, too, when the summer thunder shower visits you in the early evening, you may know that people to the west of you are probably looking at its side and top and admiring its beauty of form and color.

The storm passes on, still to the eastward, and finally the cloud mass entirely disappears beneath the eastern horizon; but if you watch, you will see signs that it is still there, though out of sight; for in the darkness of the night you can see the eastern horizon lighted by little flashes, the source of which cannot be seen. You call it "heat lightning," but it is really the last signal that we can see of the vanishing thunder storm, so far away that the sound of the crashing thunder cannot be heard.

You watch the mysterious flashes; they grow dimmer and dimmer and finally you see them no more. Our summer shower is gone. It has done what thousands of others have done before, and what thousands of others will do in the future. It has started, moved off, and finally disappeared from sight; and as it has gone it has told us a story. You can read a part of this story if you will; and in reading it will find much that interests.

LEAFLET VII.
A SNOW STORM.[9]
By ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down And still fluttered down the snow. —Lowell.

The storm which Lowell describes so delightfully is the first soft, gentle snow fall that comes in November or early December. "The silence deep and white" settles like a benediction over the brown, uneven landscape, and makes of it a scene of enchantment. Very different from this is the storm that comes when the winter cold is most severe and winter winds most terrific. Then the skies are as white as the fields, with never a sign of blue; if the sun appears at all, it shines cold instead of warm, and seems but a vague white spot behind the veil of upward, downward whirling snowflakes; the wild wind takes the "snow dust" in eddies across the fields and piles it at the fences in great drift billows with overhanging crests. On such a day the snow is so cold and dry, the clouds so low and oppressive, the bare trees so brown and bleak, that we shiver even though we gaze on the dreary scene from the window of a warm and comfortable room.

Fig. 19. Snow crystals enlarged.

But another change is sure to come. Some February day the wind will veer suddenly to the south and breathe warm thawing breaths over the white frozen world. Then will the forests appear in robes of vivid blue-purple against the shining hills; and in the mornings the soft blue of the horizon will shade upward into rose-color and still upward into yellow and beryl green; these hues are never seen on the forest or in the sky except when the snow covers the earth to the horizon line. The eye that loves color could ill afford to lose from the world the purples and blues which bring contrast into the winter landscape.

The snow storm to our limited understanding, begins with a miracle—the miracle of crystallization. Why should water freezing freely in the air be a part of geometry, the six rays of the snow crystal growing at an angle one to another, of sixty degrees? Or as if to prove geometry divine beyond cavil, sometimes the rays include angles of twice sixty degrees. Then why should the decorations of the rays assume thousands of intricate, beautiful forms, each ray of a flake ornamented exactly like its five sisters? And why should the snowflake formed in the higher clouds of the upper air be tabular in shape but still, in cross section, show that it is built on the plan of six radii? Look at it as we will, the formation of a crystal is a beautiful mystery and is as unfathomable as is the mystery of life.

Fig. 20. Snow crystals enlarged.

I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. R. G. Allen, Section Director for New York of the U. S. Weather Bureau, for suggestions in making out the following questions. The beautiful pictures of snow crystals illustrating this lesson were made from photographs taken by Mr. W. A. Bentley of Jericho, Vt. It is our desire to interest all teachers in the natural history of a snow storm, to the end that "they may love the country better and be content to live therein."

A thermometer hung in a sheltered, open place away from the warmth of the house is a necessary preliminary to the proper observation of the phenomena of a snow storm.

Dark woolen cloth is the best medium on which to catch and observe snow crystals.

Fig. 21. "With a silence deep and white."

Questions on a Snow Storm.

1. What causes snow?

2. At what temperature do snow crystals form?

3. How do the clouds appear before a snow storm?

4. What is the temperature of the air before the storm?

5. What is the direction of the wind before the storm?

6. Does the storm come from the same direction as the wind?

7. What are the conditions of the wind and temperature when the snow crystals are most perfect in form?

8. What are these conditions when the snow crystals are matted together in great flakes?

9. What are these conditions when the snow crystals appear sharp and needle-like?

10. Are the snow crystals of the same storm similar in structure and decoration?

11. What is the difference in structure between a snowflake and a hail stone?

12. What is sleet?

13. What is the difference between hoar frost and snow?

14. Does the temperature rise or fall during a snow storm?

15. Is it colder or warmer after a snow storm has passed than it was before it began?

16. What are the conditions of weather which cause a blizzard?

17. Why does a covering of snow prevent the ground from freezing so severely as it would if bare?

18. Why is snow a bad conductor of heat?

19. Pack snow in a quart cup until it is full and let it melt; then tell how full the cup is of water. What do you infer from this?

20. Have you ever observed the grass to be green beneath snow drifts? Tell why.

21. Does snow evaporate as well as melt?

22. How does snow benefit the farmer and the fruit grower?

23. Do the snow storms in your locality come from one general direction all winter?

LEAFLET VIII.
A HANDFUL OF SOIL: WHAT IT IS.[10]
By R. S. TARR.

Wind drifts a seed from the parent plant until it settles to the ground, perhaps in a field or by the roadside, or even in the schoolyard. There it remains through the long winter; but with the return of spring, encouraged by the warm sunlight, the seed awakens from its dormant condition, breaks open the seed-cover and sends leaves into the air and roots into the ground. No one planted the seed; yet the plant has made its way in the world and it thrives until it has given to other seeds the same opportunity to start in life.

Had the seed fallen upon a board or a stone it might have sent out leaves and roots; but it could never have developed into a plant, for something necessary would have been lacking. What is there in the soil that is so necessary to the success of plant life? How has it come to be there? What is this soil that the plants need so much? These are some of the questions which we will try to answer.

One readily sees that the soil furnishes a place in which the plants may fix themselves,—an anchorage, as it were. It is also easy to see that from the soil the plants obtain a supply of water; and, moreover, that this water is very necessary, for the vegetation in a moist country suffers greatly in time of drought, and few plants are able to grow in a desert region because there is so little water. You can make a desert in the schoolroom and contrast it with moist soil by planting seeds in two dishes of soil, watering one, but furnishing no water to the other.

That water is necessary to plants is also proved by the plant itself. The sap and the moisture which may be pressed out of a grass stem or an apple are principally water taken from the soil by the roots. But there is more than water, for the juice of an apple is sweet or sour, while the sap and juice of other plants may be sweet or bitter. There are substances dissolved in the water.

It is these dissolved substances that the plants need for their growth, and they find them ready for use in the soil. There is a plant-food which the roots seek and find, so that every plant which sends roots into the soil takes something from it to build up the plant tissue. The sharp edges of some sedges, which will cut the hand like a dull knife, and the wood ashes left when a wood fire is burned, represent in part this plant-food obtained from the soil.

Let us take a handful of soil from the field, the schoolyard, or the street and examine it. We find it to be dirt that "soils" the hands; and when we try to brush off the dirt, we notice a gritty feeling that is quite disagreeable. This is due to the bits of mineral in the soil; and that these are hard, often harder than a pin, may often be proved by rubbing soil against a piece of glass, which the hard bits will often scratch, while a pin will not.

Fig. 21. A boulder-strewn soil of glacial origin with one of the large erratics on the right similar to those which early attracted attention to the drift. See page 105.

Study this soil with the eye and you may not see the tiny bits, though in sandy soils one may easily notice that there are bits of mineral. Even fine loamy and clay soils, when examined with a pocket lens or a microscope, will be found to be composed of tiny fragments of mineral. It is evident that in some way mineral has been powdered up to form the soil; and since the minerals come from rocks, it is the rocks that have been ground up. That powdered rock will make just such a substance as soil may be proved by pounding a pebble to bits, or by collecting some of the rock dust that is made when a hole is drilled in a rock. Much the same substance is ground from a grindstone when a knife is sharpened on it, making the water muddy like that in a mud hole.

It will be an interesting experiment to reduce a pebble to powder and plant seeds in it to see whether they will grow as well as in soil; but in preparing it try to avoid using a sandstone pebble, because sandy soils are never very fertile.

Fig. 22. A glacial soil, containing numerous transported pebbles and boulders, resting on the bed rock.

Not only is soil made up of bits of powdered rock, but it everywhere rests upon rock ([Fig. 25]). Some consider soil to be only the surface layers in which plants grow; but really this is, in most places, essentially the same as the layers below, down even to the very rock, so that we might call it all soil; though, since a special name, regolith (meaning stone blanket), has been proposed for all the soft, soil-like rock-cover, we may speak of it as regolith and reserve the word soil for the surface layers only.

In some places there is no soil on the bare rocks; elsewhere the soil-cover is a foot or two in depth; but there are places where the regolith is several hundred feet deep. In such places, even the wells do not reach the bed rock; nor do the streams cut down to it; but even there, if one should dig deep enough, he would reach the solid rock beneath.

How has the hard rock been changed to loose soil? One of the ways, of which there are several, may be easily studied whenever a rock has been exposed to the air. Let us go to a stone wall or among the pebbles in a field, for instance, and, chipping off the surface, notice how different the inside is from the outside. The outer crust is rusted and possibly quite soft, while the interior is harder and fresher. Many excellent examples of this may be found in any stony field or stone wall.

Fig. 23. The bed of a stream at low water, revealing the rounded pebbles that have been worn and smoothed by being rolled about, thus grinding off tiny bits which later are built into the flood-plains.

As hard iron rusts and crumbles to powder when exposed to the weather; so will the minerals and the rocks decay and fall to bits; but rocks require a very much greater time for this than does iron. It happens that the soil of New York has not been produced by the decay of rock; and, therefore, although the soils in many parts of the world have been formed in this way, we will not delay longer in studying this subject now, nor in considering the exact way in which rocks are enabled to crumble.

Another way in which rocks may be powdered may be seen in most parts of New York. The rains wash soil from the hillsides causing the streams to become muddy. In the streams there are also many pebbles, possibly the larger fragments that have fallen into the stream after having been broken from the ledges. The current carries these all along down the stream, and, as they go, one piece striking against another, or being dragged over the rocks in the stream bed, the pebbles are ground down and smoothed ([Fig. 23]), which means, of course, that more mud is supplied to the stream, as mud is furnished from a grindstone when a knife or scythe is being sharpened on it. On the pebbly beaches of the sea or lakeshore much the same thing may be seen; and here also the constant grinding of the rocks wears off the edges until the pebbles become smooth and round.

Fig. 24. Near view of a cut in glacial soil, gullied by the rains, and with numerous transported pebbles embedded in the rock flour.

Supplied with bits of rock from the soil, or from the grinding up of pebbles and rocks along its course, the stream carries its load onward, perhaps to a lake, which it commences to fill, forming a broad delta of level and fertile land, near where the stream enters the lake. Or, possibly, the stream enters the sea and builds a delta there, as the Mississippi river has done.

Fig. 25. A scratched limestone pebble taken from a glacial soil.

But much of the mud does not reach the sea. The greatest supply comes when the streams are so flooded by heavy rains or melting snows that the river channel is no longer able to hold the water, which then rises above the banks, overflowing the surrounding country. Then, since its current is checked where it is so shallow, the water drops some of its load of rock bits on the flood-plain, much as the muddy water in a gutter drops sand or mud on the sidewalk when, in time of heavy rains, it overflows the walk.

Many of the most fertile lands of the world are flood-plains of this kind, where sediment, gathered by the streams farther up their courses, is dropped upon the flood-plains, enriching them by new layers of fertile soil. One does not need to go to the Nile, the Yellow, or the Mississippi for illustrations of this; they abound on every hand, and many thousands of illustrations, great and small, may be found in the State of New York. Doubtless you can find one.

Fig. 26. The grooved bed rock scratched by the movement of the ice sheet over it.

There are other ways in which soils may be formed; but only one more will be considered, and that is the way in which most of the soils of New York have been made. To study this let us go to a cut in the earth, such as a well or a stream bank ([Figs. 22] and [24]). Scattered through the soil numerous pebbles and boulders will doubtless be found; and if these are compared with the bed rock of the country, which underlies the soil ([Fig. 22]), some of them will be found to be quite different from it. For instance, where the bed rock is shale or limestone, some of the pebbles will no doubt be granite, sandstone, etc. If you could explore far enough, you would find just such rocks to the north of you, perhaps one or two hundred miles away in Canada; or, if your home is south of the Adirondacks, you might trace the pebbles to those mountains.

On some of these pebbles, especially the softer ones, such as limestone, you will find scratches, as if they had been ground forcibly together ([Fig. 25]). Looking now at the bed rock in some place from which the soil has been recently removed, you will find it also scratched and grooved ([Fig. 26]); and if you take the direction of these scratches with the compass, you will find that they extend in a general north and south direction, pointing, in fact, in the same direction from which the pebbles have come.

All over northeastern North America and northwestern Europe the soil is of the same nature as that just described. In our own country this kind of soil reaches down as far as the edge of the shaded area in the map ([Fig. 27]), and it will be noticed that all of New York is within that area excepting the extreme southwestern part near the southern end of Chautauqua lake.

Not only is the soil peculiar within this district, but there are many small hills of clay or sand, or sometimes of both together ([Figs. 33] and [34]). They rise in hummocky form and often have deep pits or kettle-shaped basins between, sometimes, when the soil is clayey enough to hold water, containing tiny pools. These hills extend in somewhat irregular ranges stretching across the country from the east toward the west. The position of some of these ranges is indicated on the map ([Fig. 27]).

For a long time people wondered how this soil with its foreign pebbles and boulders, altogether called "drift," came to be placed where it is; they were especially puzzled to tell how the large boulders, called erratics ([Fig. 21]), should have been carried from one place to another. It was suggested that they came from the bursting of planets, from comets, from the explosion of mountains, from floods, and in other ways equally unlikely; but Louis Agassiz, studying the glaciers of the Alps and the country round about, was impressed by the resemblance between the "drift" and the materials carried by living glaciers.

Agassiz, therefore, proposed the hypothesis that glaciers had carried the drift and left it where we now find it; but for many years his glacial hypothesis met with a great deal of opposition because it seemed impossible that the climate could have changed so greatly as to cover what is now a temperate land with a great sheet of ice. Indeed, even now, although all who have especially studied the subject are convinced, many people have not accepted Agassiz's explanation, just as years ago, long after it was proved that the earth rotated each day, many people still believed that it was the sun, not the earth, that was moving.

Fig. 27. Map showing the extent of the ice sheet in the United States. Position of some of the moraines indicated by the heavily shaded lines. (After Chamberlain.)

The glacial explanation is as certain as that the earth rotates. For some reason, which we do not know, the climate changed and allowed ice to cover temperate lands, as before that time the climate had changed so as to allow plants like those now growing as far south as Virginia to live in Greenland, now ice covered. When the ice of the glacier melted away it left many signs of its presence; and when the temperate latitude plants grew in Greenland they left seeds, leaves and tree trunks which have been imbedded in the rocks as fossils. One may now pick the leaves of temperate climate trees from the rocks beneath a great icecap.

Fig. 28. A view over the great ice plateau of Greenland, with a mountain peak projecting above it.

To one who studies them, the signs left by the glacier are as clear proof as the leaves and seeds. From these signs we know that the climate has changed slowly, but we have not yet learned why it changed.

There are now two places on the earth where vast glaciers, or ice sheets, cover immense areas of land, one in the Antarctic, a region very little known, the other in Greenland, where there is an ice sheet covering land having an area more than ten times that of the State of New York. Let us study this region to see what is being done there, in order to compare it with what has been done in New York.

Fig. 29. The edge of a part of the great Greenland ice sheet (on the left) resting on the land, over which are strewn many boulders brought by the ice and left there when it melted.

In the interior is a vast plateau of ice, in places over 10,000 feet high, a great icy desert ([Fig. 28]), where absolutely no life of any kind, either animal or plant, can exist, and where it never rains, but where the storms bring snow even in the middle of summer. Such must have been the condition in northeastern America during the glacial period.

Fig. 30. A scratched pebble taken from the ice of the Greenland glacier.

This vast ice sheet is slowly moving outward in all directions from the elevated center, much as a pile of wax may be made to flow outward by placing a heavy weight upon the middle. Moving toward the north, east, south and west, this glacier must of course come to an end somewhere. In places, usually at the heads of bays, the end is in the sea, as the end of our glacier must have been off the shores of New England. From these sea-ends, icebergs constantly break off; these floating away toward the south, often reach, before they melt, as far as the path followed by the steamers from the United States to Europe. Between bays where the glacier ends in the sea, the ice front rests on the land ([Fig. 29]), as it did over the greater part of New York and the states further west. There it melts in the summer, supplying streams with water and filling many small ponds and lakes. The front stands there year after year, sometimes moving a little ahead, again melting further back so as to reveal the rocks on which it formerly rested.

Fig. 31. A part of the edge of the Greenland glacier, with clean white ice above, and dark discolored bands below where laden with rock fragments. In the foreground is a boulder-strewn moraine.

The bed rock here is found to be polished, scratched and grooved just like the bed-rock in New York; and the scratches extend in the direction from which the ice moves. Resting on the rock are boulders and pebbles ([Fig. 22]), sometimes on the bare rock, sometimes imbedded in a clay as they are in the drift. As we found when studying the soil in our own region, so here the pebbles are often scratched, and many of them are quite different from the rock on which they rest.

Fig. 32. Hummocky surface of the boulder-strewn moraine of Greenland.

Going nearer to the ice we find the lower part loaded with pebbles, boulders and bits of clay very like those on the rocks near by. [Fig. 30] shows one of these, scratched and grooved, which I once dug from the ice of this very glacier. The bottom of the ice is like a huge sandpaper, being dragged over the bed rock with tremendous force. It carries a load of rock fragments, and as it moves secures more by grinding or prying them from the rocks beneath. These all travel on toward the edge of the ice, being constantly ground finer and finer as wheat is ground when it goes through the mill. Indeed the resemblance is so close that the clay produced by this grinding action is often called rock flour.

Dragged to the front of the ice, the rock bits, great and small, roll out as the ice melts, some, especially the finest, being carried away in the water, which is always muddy with the rock flour it carries; but much remains near the edge of the ice, forming a moraine ([Figs. 31] and [32]). This moraine, dumped at the edge of the glacier, very closely resembles the hummocky hills of New York (Figs. [33] and [34]), mentioned above, which are really moraines formed at the ice-edge during the glacial period. While their form is quite alike, the New York moraines are generally less pebbly than the Greenland moraines, because the Greenland glacier carries less rock flour than did the glacier which covered New York.

Fig. 33. A view over the hummocky surface of a part of the moraine of the great American ice sheet in Central New York.

In the Greenland glacier, as you can see in [Fig. 31], there is much dirt and rock; in the glacier of the glacial period there was even more. When it melted away the ice disappeared as water, but the rock fragments of course fell down upon the rock beneath and formed soil. If over a certain region, as for instance over your home, the ice carried a great load of drift, when this gradually settled down, as the ice melted, it formed a deep layer of soil; but if the glacier had only a small load a shallow soil was left. Again, if the ice front remained for a long time near a certain place, as near your home, it kept bringing and dumping rock fragments to form moraines, which, of course, would continue to grow higher so long as the ice dumped the rock fragments, much as a sand pile will continue to grow higher so long as fresh loads are brought and dumped.

There are other causes for differences in the glacial soils, but most of them cannot be considered here. One of them is so important, however, that it must be mentioned. With the melting of so much ice, vast floods of water were caused, and these came from the ice, perhaps in places where there are now no streams, or at best only small ones. These rapid currents carried off much of the rock flour and left the coarser and heavier sand, gravel, or pebbles, the latter often well rounded, with the scratches removed by the long-continued rolling about in the glacial stream bed.

One often finds such beds of sand or gravel in different parts of the State, telling not only of ice where it is now absent, but of water currents where is now dry land. The rock flour was in some cases carried to the sea, elsewhere to lakes, or in still other places deposited in the flood-plains of the glacier-fed rivers. Now some of this rock flour is dug out to make into bricks.

Enough has been said to show that the soils of New York were brought by a glacier, and to point out that there are many differences in thickness as well as in kind and condition of the soil. The agriculture of the State is greatly influenced by these differences. In some cases one part of a farm has a deep, rich soil, another part a barren, sandy, pebbly or boulder-covered soil ([Fig. 21]), while in still another part the bed rock may be so near the surface that it does not pay to clear the forest from it. Moreover, some farms are in hummocky moraines, while others, near by, are on level plains ([Fig. 34]), where a broad glacial stream built up a flood-plain in a place where now the stream is so small that it never rises high enough to overflow the plain.

There are even other differences than these, and one who is familiar with a region is often puzzled to explain them; but they are all due to the glacier or to the water furnished by its melting, and a careful study by a student of the subject of Glacial Geology will serve to explain them. Each place has had peculiar conditions and it would be necessary to study each place much more carefully than has been done here in order to explain all the differences.

Not only is agriculture influenced greatly by the differences in the soil from place to place, but also by the very fact that they are glacial soils. Being made up of partly ground-up rock fragments the soils are often stony and difficult to till. Unlike the soil of rock decay, the particles of which the glacial soil is made have been derived by mechanical grinding, not by chemical decay and disintegration. There has been less leaching out of the soluble compounds which make plant foods. These are stored up in the rock fragments ready for use when decay causes the proper changes to produce the soluble compounds which plants require.

Fig. 34. Hummocky moraine hills in the background and a level gravel plain—an ancient glacial-stream flood-plain—in foreground.

Slowly the glacial soils are decaying, and, as they do so, are furnishing plant-food to the water which the roots greedily draw in. So the glacial soil is not a mere store house of plant-food, but a manufactory of it as well, and glacial soils are therefore "strong" and last for a long time. That decay is going on, especially near the surface, may often be seen in a cut in the soil, where the natural blue color of the drift is seen below, while near the surface the soil is rusted yellow by the decay of certain minerals which contain iron.

Few materials on the earth are more important than the soil; it acts as the intermediary between man and the earth. The rocks have some substances locked up in them which animals need; by decay, or by being ground up, the rocks crumble so that plants may send roots into them and extract the substances needed by animals. Gifted with this wonderful power the plants grow and furnish food to animals, some of which is plant-food obtained from the rocks; and so the animals of the land, and man himself, secure a large part of their food from the rocks. It is then worth the while to stop for a moment and think and study about this, one of the most marvelous of the many wonderful adjustments of Nature, but so common that most persons live and die without even giving it more than a passing thought.

LEAFLET IX.
A HANDFUL OF SOIL: WHAT IT DOES.[11]
By L. A. CLINTON.

The more one studies the soil, the more certainly it will be found that the earth has locked up in her bosom many secrets, and that these secrets will not be given up for the mere asking. As mysterious as the soil may appear at different times, it always is governed by certain laws. These principles once understood, the soil becomes an open book from which one may read quickly and accurately.

Uses of the Soil.

The soil has certain offices to perform for which it is admirably fitted. The most important of these offices are:

1. To hold plants in place;
2. To serve as a source of plant-food;
3. To act as a reservoir for moisture;
4. To serve as a storehouse for applied plant-food or fertilizer.

Some soils are capable of performing all these offices, while others are fitted for only a part of them. Thus a soil which is pure sand and almost entirely deficient in the essential elements of plant-food, may serve, if located near a large city, merely to hold the plants in position while the skillful gardener feeds the plants with specially prepared fertilizers, and supplies the moisture by irrigation.

Early in the study of soils an excursion, if possible, should be made into the woods. Great trees will be seen and under the trees will be found various shrubs and possibly weeds and grass. It will be noticed that the soil is well occupied with growing plants. The surface will be found covered with a layer several inches thick of leaves and twigs. Beneath this covering the soil is dark, moist, full of organic matter, loose, easily spaded except as roots or stones may interfere, and has every appearance of being fertile.

Soil Conditions as Found in Many Fields.

After examining the conditions in the forest, a study should be made of the soil in some cultivated field. It will be found that in the field the soil has lost many of the marked characteristics noticed in the woodland. In walking over the field, the soil will be found to be hard and compact. The surface may be covered with growing plants, for if the seeds which have been put into the soil by the farmer have not germinated and the plants made growth, nature has quickly come to the rescue and filled the soil with other plants which we commonly call weeds. It is nature's plan to keep the soil covered with growing plants, and from nature we should learn a lesson. The field soil, instead of being moist, is dry; instead of being loose and friable, it is hard and compact, and it appears in texture entirely different from the woodland soil. The cause of the difference is not hard to discover. In the woods, nature for years has been building up the soil. The leaves from the trees fall to the ground and form a covering which prevents washing or erosion, and these leaves decay and add to the humus, or vegetable mould, of the soil. Roots are constantly decaying and furnish channels through the soil and permit the circulation of air and water.

In the field, nature's lesson has been disregarded and too often the whole aim seems to be to remove everything from the soil and to make no returns. Consequently the organic matter, or humus, has been used up; the tramping of the horses' feet has closed the natural drainage canals; after the crop is removed, the soil is left naked during the winter and the heavy rains wash and erode the surface, and remove some of the best plant-food. After a few years of such treatment, the farmer wonders why the soil will not produce as liberally as it did formerly.

Experiment No. 1.—The fact that there is humus, or vegetable mould, in certain soils can be shown by burning. Weigh a potful of hard soil and a potful of lowland soil, or muck, after each has been thoroughly dried. Then put the pots on the coals in a coal stove. After the soil is thoroughly burned, weigh again. Some of the difference in weight may be due to loss of moisture, but if the samples were well dried in the beginning, most of the loss will be due to the burning of the humus.

Conditions Which Affect Fertility.

There are certain conditions which affect soil fertility and of these the most important are:

• Texture;
• Moisture-content;
• Plant-food;
• Temperature.

Texture and Its Relation To Fertility.

By texture is meant the physical condition of the soil. Upon good texture, more than upon any other one thing, depends the productivity of the soil. When the texture is right the soil is fine, loose, and friable; the roots are able to push through it and the feeding area is enlarged. Each individual particle is free to give up a portion of its plant-food, or its film of moisture. The conditions which are found in the woods' soil are almost ideal.

Experiment No. 2.—The importance of good texture may be well shown in the class room. Pots should be filled with a soil which is lumpy and cloddy, and other pots with the same kind of material after it has been made fine and mellow. After seeds are planted in the different pots, a careful study should be made of the length of time required for germination and of the health and vigor of the plants.

Experiment No. 3.—The greater part of our farming lands do not present ideal conditions as regards texture. Clay soils are especially likely to be in bad condition. If samples of the various soils can be collected, as sand, loam, clay, etc., it may be clearly shown how different soils respond to the same kind of treatment. With a common garden trowel, the soils should be stirred and worked while wet, and then put away to dry. After drying, the conditions presented by the soils should be noted, also the length of time required for the soils to become dry. Whereas the sand and the loam will remain in fairly good condition when dry, the clay will have become "puddled," i. e., the particles will have run together and made a hard, compact mass. Thus it is found in practice that clay soils must be handled with far more care and intelligence than is required for the sand and loams, if the texture is to be kept perfect.

Experiment No. 4.—If, in the experiment above suggested, the clay soil is mixed with leaf-mould, or humus soil, from the woods, it will be found to act very differently. The vegetable matter thus mixed with the mineral matter prevents the running together of the particles of clay.

Two principles, both important as relating to soil texture, now have been illustrated. Soils must not be worked when they are so wet that their particles will cohere, and organic matter, or humus, must be kept mixed with the mineral matter of the soil. In practical farm operations, if the soil can be made into a mud ball it is said to be too wet to work. The required amount of humus is retained in the soil by occasionally plowing under some green crop, as clover, or by applying barn manures.

Fig. 35. The glass of water at the right has received lime and the clay has been flocculated; the other was not treated.

Clay soils are also frequently treated with lime to cause them to remain in good condition and be more easily tilled. Lime causes the fine particles to flocculate, or to become granular, i. e., several particles unite to form a larger particle, and these combinations are more stable and do not so readily puddle, or run together. A mud-puddle in clay soil will remain murky until the water has evaporated entirely. Let a little water-slaked lime be mixed with the muddy water, and the particles of clay will be flocculated and will settle to the bottom; thus the water will become clear.

Experiment No. 5.—Into two glasses of water put some fine clay soil; thoroughly stir the mixture ([Fig. 35]). Into one glass thus prepared put a spoonful of water-slaked lime; stir thoroughly, then allow both glasses to remain quiet that the soil may settle. Notice in which glass the water first becomes clear, and note the appearance of the sediment in each.

The Moisture in the Soil.

In Leaflet VI has been given the history of a thunder shower. We are not told much about the history of the water after it reaches the earth. If we go out immediately after a heavy shower, we find little streams running alongside the road. These little streams unite to make larger ones, until finally the creeks and rivers are swollen, and, if the rain was heavy enough, the streams may overflow their banks. In all these streams, from the smallest to the largest, the water is muddy. Where did this mud come from? It was washed largely from the cultivated fields, and the finest and best soil is certain to be the first to start on its voyage to the valleys or to the sea. If the farmer had only learned better the lesson from nature and kept his fields covered with plants, a large part of the loss might have been prevented. A rain gauge should be kept in every school yard, so that every shower can be measured. It can then be easily determined by the pupils how many tons of rain fall upon the school grounds, or how much falls upon an acre of land. It will be a matter of surprise that the amount is so great.

Fig. 36. a. Soil too dry. b. Soil in good condition. c. Soil too wet.

Not all the water which falls during a summer shower is carried off by surface drainage, since a considerable part sinks into the soil. As it passes down, each soil grain takes up a portion and surrounds itself with a little film of water, much as does a marble when dipped into water. If the rain continues long enough, the soil will become saturated and the water which cannot be retained, will, under the influence of gravity, sink down to the lower layers of soil until it finally reaches the level of the free water. From this free water, at varying depths in the soil, wells and springs are supplied. If the soil were to remain long saturated, seeds would not germinate, and most cultivated plants would not grow because all the air passages of the soil would be filled with water ([Fig. 36]). The water which sinks down deep into the soil and helps to supply our wells is called free water. That part which is held as a film by the soil particles (as on a marble) is called capillary water. After the rain is over and the sun shines, a part of the moisture which is held by the particles near the surface is lost by evaporation. The moisture which is below tends to rise to restore the equilibrium; thus there is created a current toward the surface, and finally into the air; the moisture which thus escapes aids in forming the next thunder storm.

Experiment No. 6.—Humus enables the soil to take up and hold large quantities of water. To illustrate this, two samples of soil should be obtained, one a humus, or alluvial, soil, rich in organic matter, and the other a sandy soil. Put the two samples where they will become thoroughly air dry. Procure, say five pounds each of the dry soils, and put each into a glass tube over one end of which there is tied a piece of muslin, or fine wire gauze. From a graduated glass pour water slowly upon each sample until the water begins to drain from the bottom of the tube. In this way it can be shown which soil has the greater power of holding moisture. Both samples should then be set away to dry. By weighing the samples each day, it can be determined which soil has the greater power of retaining moisture. This experiment may be conducted not only with sand and humus, but with clay, loam, gravel, and all other kinds of soil.

Experiment No. 7.—A finely pulverized soil will hold more film-moisture than a cloddy soil. To illustrate the importance of texture as related to moisture, soil should be secured which is cloddy, or lumpy. One tube should be filled, as heretofore described (Exp. No. 6), with the lumpy soil, and the other tube with the fine soil which results from pulverizing the lumps, equal weights of soil being used in each case. From a graduated glass pour water upon each sample until the drainage begins from the bottom. Notice which soil possesses greater power of absorbing moisture. Put the samples away to dry, and by careful weighing, each day, it can be determined which soil dries out more readily.

Fig. 37. "Foot-prints on the sands of time."

Fig. 38. A cross section through one of the foot-prints.

The prudent farmer will take measures to prevent the escape of this moisture into the air. All the film-moisture (on the soil particles) needs to be carefully conserved or saved, for the plants will need very large amounts of moisture before they mature, and they can draw their supply only from this film-moisture. We can again apply the lesson learned in the woods. The soil there is always moist; the leaves form a cover, or blanket, which prevents the evaporation of moisture. Underneath an old plank or board, the soil will be found moist. If we can break the connection between the soil and the air, we can check the escape of moisture. A layer of straw over the soil will serve to prevent the loss of moisture; yet a whole field cannot be thus covered. It has been found that the surface soil, if kept loose, say about three inches of the top soil can be made to act as a blanket or covering for the soil underneath. Although this top layer may become as dry as dust, yet it prevents the escape, by evaporation, of moisture from below. It is a matter of common observation that if tracks are made across a freshly cultivated field, the soil where the tracks are will become darker ([Fig. 37]). This darker appearance of the soil in the foot-marks is due to the moisture which is there rising to the surface. The implement of tillage makes the soil loose, breaking the capillary connection between the lower layers of soil and the surface; thus the upward passage of the water is checked. Where the foot-print is, the soil has been again pressed down at the surface, the particles have been crowded closer together, and capillarity is restored to the surface so that the moisture is free to escape ([Fig. 38]). In caring for flower-beds, or even in growing plants in a pot in the school-room, it is important that the surface of the soil be kept loose and mellow. Far better in a flower garden is a garden rake than a watering pot.

Experiment No. 8.—To show the importance of the surface mulch, fill several pots with a sandy loam soil, putting the same weight of soil into each pot. In one pot, pack the soil firmly; in another pot, pack the soil firmly and then make the surface loose. These pots of soil may then be put away to dry; by daily weighing each it can be readily determined what effects the various methods of treatment have upon the moisture-holding power of soils.

Experiment No. 9.—The above experiment may be varied by covering the soil in some of the pots with leaves, or straw, or paper, care being taken that the added weight of the foreign matter is properly accounted for.

Soil Temperature.

Fig. 39. The moss-grown lawn or grass plot.

If a kernel of corn be placed in the ground in early spring before the soil has become warm, the seed will not germinate. Abundance of moisture and oxygen may be present, but the third requisite for germination, proper temperature, is lacking. The soil is very slow to become warm in the spring, and this is due to the large amount of water which must be evaporated. During the winter and spring, the rain and melting snow have saturated the soil. The under-drainage is deficient so there is no way for the escape of the surplus water except by evaporation, and evaporation is a cooling process. A well-drained soil is thus warmer than a poorly-drained one.

The atmosphere is much quicker to respond to changes in temperature than is the soil. In the spring, the air becomes warm while the soil continues cold, and the rains which fall during this time are warmed by passing through the warm air. Then in sinking through the soil the rain-water parts with some of its heat which makes the soil warmer. During mid-summer the soil becomes very warm, and it is not affected by cool nights, as is the atmosphere. Consequently as a summer rain may be several degrees cooler than the soil, the water in passing through the soil takes up some of the heat; thus the soil conditions are made more favorable for plant growth. Therefore, soil temperature is regulated somewhat by the rainfall.

Experiment No. 10.—The color of a soil also affects its temperature, a dark soil being warmer than a light colored soil. By having thermometers as a part of the school room equipment, interesting experiments may be conducted in determining the effect of color and moisture upon the temperature of soils.

Air in the Soil.

Although that part of the plant which we can see is entirely surrounded by air, it is also necessary that the soil be in such a condition that it can be penetrated by the air. Indeed, growth cannot begin in a soil from which the air is excluded.

Fig. 40. The clover roots penetrate the soil deeply.

Experiment No. 11.—To prove this, put clay soil in a pot and plant seeds; then wet the surface of the soil and puddle or pack the clay while wet and watch for the seeds to germinate and grow. At the same time put seeds in another pot filled with loose, mellow, moist soil.

Frequently, after the farmer has sown his grain, there comes a heavy, beating rain, and the surface of the soil becomes so packed that the air is excluded and the seeds cannot germinate. If plants are grown in pots and the water is supplied at the top, the soil may become so hard and compact as to exclude the air and the plants will make a sickly growth. The surface soil must be kept loose so that the air can penetrate it.

Fig. 41. After the clover dies the soil is in better condition for its having lived.

On many lawns it may be noticed that the grass is not thriving. It has a sickly appearance, and even the application of fertilizer does not seem to remedy the conditions. Perhaps the ground has become so hard that the air cannot penetrate and the grass is being smothered. If the surface of the soil can be loosened with a garden rake, and clover seed sown, much good may be accomplished. The clover is a tap-rooted plant, sending its main root deep into the soil.

After the death of the plant, the root decays, and the nitrogen which is stored in it can be used as food by the other plants. Most useful of all, however, in such cases, the decay of the tap-root of the clover makes a passage deep into the soil and thus allows the air to enter. Consult [Figs. 39]-[41].

LEAFLET X.
THE BROOK.[12]
By J. O. MARTIN.

Introduction by L. H. BAILEY.

A brook is the best of subjects for nature-study. It is near and dear to every child. It is a world in itself. It is an epitome of the nature in which we live. In miniature, it illustrates the forces which have shaped much of the earth's surface. Day by day and century by century, it carries its burden of earth-waste which it lays down in the quiet places. Always beginning and never ceasing, it does its work as slowly and as quietly as the drifting of the years. It is a scene of life and activity. It reflects the sky. It is kissed by the sun. It is caressed by the winds. The minnows play in the pools. The soft weeds grow in the shallows. The grass and the dandelions lie on its sunny banks. The moss and fern are sheltered in the nooks. It comes one knows not whence; it flows one knows not whither. It awakens the desire of exploration. It is a realm of mysteries. It typifies the flood of life. It goes "on forever."

In many ways can the brook be made an adjunct of the school-room. One teacher or one grade may study its physiography; another its birds; another may plat it. Or one teacher and one grade may devote a month or a term to one phase of it. Thus the brook may be made the center of a life-theme.

L. H. B.

I. A BROOK AND ITS WORK.

On a rainy day most of us are driven indoors and thus we miss some of nature's most instructive lessons, for in sunshine or rain the great mother toils on, doing some of her hardest labor when her face is overcast with clouds. Let us find our waterproofs, raise our umbrellas, bid defiance to the pattering rain, and go forth to learn some of the lessons of a rainy day.

Fig. 42. The brook may be made the center of a life-theme.

Along the roadside, the steady, down-pouring rain collects into pools and rills, or sinks out of sight in the ground. The tiny streams search out the easiest grade and run down the road, digging little gullies as they go. Soon these rills meet and, joining their muddy currents, flow on with greater speed down the hillside until they reach the bottom of the valley and go to swell the brook which flows on, through sunshine or rain. The water which sinks into the ground passes out of sight for a time, but its journey is also downward toward the brook, though the soil, acting as a great sponge, holds it back and makes it take a slower pace than the rushing surface water. This slower-moving underground water percolates through the soil until it comes to a layer of rock, clay, or other impervious substance, along the slope of which it flows until it is turned again to the surface in the form of a spring. Perhaps this spring is one of those clear, cold pools, with the water bubbling up through its sandy bottom, from which we love to drink on a hot summer's day; or, again, it is a swampy spot on the hillside where the cat-tails grow. In whatever form it issues from the ground, a tiny rill carries away its overflow, and this sooner or later joins the brook.

The brook, we see, is simply the collected rainfall from the hillsides, flowing away to join the river. It grows larger as other brooks join it, and becomes a creek and finally a river. But where is the dividing line between brook, creek, and river? So gradually does the brook increase in volume that it would be difficult to draw any dividing line between it and the larger streams. And so with the rills that formed the brook: each is a part of the river, and the names rill, brook, creek, and river are merely relative terms.

Brooks are but rivers on a small scale; and if we study the work that a brook is doing, we shall find it engaged in cutting down or building up, just as the river does, although, owing to the smaller size of the brook, we can see most of these operations in a short distance. Let us take our way through the wet grass and dripping trees to the brookside and see what work it is doing.

The countless rain-born rills are pouring their muddy water into the brook and to-day its volume is much greater than when it is fed, as it is in fair weather, by the slower-moving underground water of the springs. It roars along with its waters no longer clear but full of clay and sand ("mud" as we call it).

If we should dip up a glassful of this muddy water, we should find that when it had settled there remained on the bottom of the glass a thin deposit of sediment. The amount of this sediment is small, no doubt, for a single glassful, but when we think of the great quantity of water constantly flowing by, we can see that considerable sediment is going along with it. But this sediment in suspension is not all the load that the brook is moving. If you will roll up your sleeve, plunge your hand to the bottom of the brook and hold it there quietly, you will feel the coarser gravel and small stones rolling along the bottom.

All this load of sand and gravel comes, as we have seen, from the valley sides, the banks of the brook, and from its bed. It is moving downward away from its original resting place; and what is the result? For thousands upon thousands of years, our brook may have been carrying off its yearly load of sediment; and though each day's labor is small, yet the added toil of centuries has been great. The result of this labor we can see in the great trough or valley through which the brook flows. Tennyson speaks of the ceaseless toil of the brook in the following words:

"I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever."

Fig. 43. A brook cutting under its bank and causing a landslide.

We have seen how the rills and torrents bring into the brook their loads of sand, clay, and gravel; now let us walk along the bank and see what the brook is doing to increase this load. Just here there is a sudden turn in the channel and so sharp is the curve that the rushing stream is not able to keep in mid-channel, but throws itself furiously against the outer bank of the curve, eating into the clay of which it is composed, until the bank is undermined, allowing a mass of clay to slide down into the stream bed, where it is eaten up and carried away by the rushing water ([Fig. 43]). Farther on, the brook dashes down a steep, rocky incline, and if we listen and watch we may hear the thud of boulders hurled along, or even see a pebble bound out of the muddy foaming water. These moving pebbles strike against each other and grind along the bottom, wearing out themselves as well as the large unmovable boulders of the rocky bed of the brook. Thus the larger stones are ground down, rounded at first but in time reduced to sand, adding in this way to the moving burden of the brook. By this slow process of cutting and grinding, the deep rock gorges of New York state, like those at Watkins, Ithaca, Au Sable Chasm, and even the mighty gorge of Niagara, have been made. The Grand Canyon of the Colorado, over a mile in depth, is one of the greatest examples of stream cutting to be found in the world.

Fig. 44. A pile of brook debris deposited by the checking of the current.

Now the brook leads us into a dripping woodland, and just ahead we can hear the roar of a little waterfall, for at this point the cutting stream flows upon the bed rock with its alternating bands of hard and soft rock through which the busy brook is cutting a miniature gorge. Here is a hard layer which the stream has undermined until it stands out as a shelf, over which the water leaps and falls in one mass with a drop of nearly ten feet. Watch how the water below boils and eddies; think with what force it is hammering its stone-cutting tools upon the rocky floor. Surely here is a place where the brook is cutting fast. Notice that swirling eddy where the water is whirling about with the speed of a spinning top; let us remember this eddy and when the water is lower we will try to see what is happening at its bottom.

On the other side of the woods our brook emerges into a broad meadow; let us follow it and see what becomes of its load, whether it is carried onward, or whether the tired brook lays it down occasionally to rest. Out of the woods, the brook dashes down a steep incline until the foaming tide comes to rest in a deep pool. What becomes of the large pebbles which have been swept down? Do they go on or do they stop? If you go to the outlet of the pool you will see that the water is coming out with nothing in its grasp but the fine clay and sand, the gravel and pebbles having been dropped by the less rapid current of the pool. This is one of the most important of the brook's lessons, for anything that tends to check the current makes it drop some of the sediment that it carries ([Fig. 44]). Yonder is an old tree stump with its crooked roots caught fast on the bottom; the mid-stream current rushes against it only to be thrown back in a boiling eddy, and the waters split in twain and flow by on either side with their current somewhat checked. In the rear of the stump is a region of quiet water where the brook is building up a pile of gravel. Farther on, the banks of the brook are low and here the waters no longer remain in the channel, but overflow the low land, spreading out on either side in a broad sheet. The increased friction of this larger area reduces the current, and again we see the brook laying down some of its load. The sand and gravel deposited here is spread out in a flat plain called a flood plain, because it is built up when the stream is in flood. It is on the large flood plains of rivers that many of our richest farm lands occur. These receive, each spring when the stream is in flood, a fresh coating of soil mixed with fragments of vegetable matter, and thus grow deeper and richer year by year. The flood plains of the Mississippi and of the Nile are notable examples of this important form of stream deposit.

Fig. 45. A delta built by a tiny rill flowing from a steep clay bank.

And now let us make one more rainy-day observation before going back to our warm, dry homes. Just ahead on the other side of that clump of alders and willows lies the pond into which the brook flows and where its current is so checked that it gives up almost all its burden of sediment. Close to the shore it has dropped its heaviest fragments, while the sand and clay have been carried farther out, each to be dropped in its turn, carefully assorted as to size and weight. Here you can see that the stream has partly filled this end of the pond, and it is now sending its divided current out over the deposit which it has made in a series of branching rivulets. This deposit is called a delta ([Fig. 45]), and deltas are another important form of stream deposits. In the lakes and ponds, deltas may grow outward until the lake is filled, when the stream will meander across the level plain without much current and hence without much cutting power ([Fig. 46]). In the sea, great deltas are being formed in some places, like those at the mouths of the Mississippi, the Nile, and the Ganges. Large areas of dry land have thus been built. Deltas, like flood plains, afford rich farming lands when they are built high enough to remain above the water.

Fig. 46. A brook flowing across a pond which has been filled.

Here let us end our study of the brook for to-day, and wait until the rain ceases and the water runs clear again; then we can see the bottom and can also learn by contrast how much more work the brook has been doing to-day than it does when the volume of water is less.

On the road home, however, we can notice how the temporary streams, as well as the everflowing brook, have been cutting and depositing. See where this tiny rill has run down that steep clay bank until its current was checked at the foot. Notice how it has spread out its sediment in a fan-shaped deposit. This form of deposit is sometimes made by larger streams, especially in a mountainous country with plains at the foot of the slopes. They are called alluvial fans or cone deltas ([Fig. 47]), but they are not as important as flood plains and deltas.

Fig. 47. A brook building a delta into a lake. Formerly the brook flowed straight ahead, but its own delta has caused it to change its direction.

The first dry, sunny morning that comes we visit the brook again. It no longer roars, but its clear waters now sing a pleasant melody as they ripple along the stony bed. We can see at a glance that comparatively little work is going on to-day, and yet if we look closely, we shall see glittering particles of sand moving along the bottom. The clear water, however, allows us to study the bottom which before was hidden by the load of mud.

First we see the rounded boulders and pebbles of all sizes which must have been rolled about for a long time to make them so smooth. Some of them are so very hard that we cannot even scratch them with our knives; others are soft and easily broken. What would be the effect of rolling together stones of such varying hardness? We must think of these stones as the tools with which the brook cuts and grinds, for water without sediment can do little more than slightly to dissolve the rock.

Let us go at once to the little waterfall, for we shall be curious to see what lies at the bottom of the whirling eddy that drew our attention yesterday. As we look down into the sunlit pool we see that the eddy is gone, for the volume of water is not great enough to cause it to revolve, but there in the rock on the bottom is a deep basin-like hole. In the bottom of this hole we shall see a number of well-rounded stones, with perhaps some sand and gravel. These stones are the tools which, whirled about by the eddying water, have cut the basin-like holes. Holes of this sort are common in rocky stream beds, especially in the neighborhood of falls or in places where falls have once been; they are called pot-holes and represent another form of stream cutting ([Fig. 48]).

Fig. 48. A pot-hole cut in the rock of a stream's bed.

Next let us visit the flood plains which we saw forming when the water was high. Now we shall find the brook flowing in its channel with the flood plain deposits left high and dry. If we dig down into the flood plain, we shall see that it is made up of successive layers varying in thickness and in the size of the fragments. Each of these layers represents a period of high water and the size of the fragments in the layer tells us something of the strength of the current, and therefore of the intensity of the flood. Some layers are thicker than others, showing a longer period of flood, or perhaps several floods in which there was little variation. This stratification, as it is called, is one of the peculiarities of water deposits and it is due to the assorting power of currents which vary in force. If we were to cut into the delta we should find the same thing to be true,—a regular succession of layers, though sometimes confused by changes in direction of flow.

To-day we shall notice something which escaped our attention when it was held by the rushing torrent—the valley bottom is much wider than the bed of the stream; if we keep our eyes open we shall see the explanation of this in the abandoned channels, where, owing to some temporary obstructions, the stream has been turned from side to side of the valley, now cutting on one bank and now on the other. In this turning from side to side the cutting area of the stream is increased, and it goes on widening its valley as well as cutting it downward.

And now we have learned some of the most important ways in which the busy brook is toiling; but there are other points which we might have seen, and in some brooks there are special features to be noted. However, we have learned that the brook is no idler, that its main work is to conduct to the ocean the rain that falls upon the earth's surface, and that in doing this it is wearing down the hills, carrying them away only to build up in other places. The cheerful song of the brook takes on a new meaning as we lie in the shade and watch it hurry by. It is not the song of idleness nor of pleasure, but like the song with which a cheerful and tireless worker seeks to make its task lighter.

LEAFLET XI.
INSECT LIFE OF A BROOK.[13]
By MARY ROGERS MILLER.

What wader, be he boy or water-fowl, has not watched the water-insects? How they dart hither and thither, some skimming the surface, others sturdily rowing about in the clear shallows! The sunlight fastens, for an instant, their grotesque reflections on the smooth bottom, then away—the shadow is lost, except for the picture it left in the memory of the onlooker.

The splashing, dashing wader, with his shout and his all-disturbing stick, stands but a poor chance of making intimate acquaintances among water-folk. Your true brook-lover is a quiet individual except when occasion demands action. The lad who, from the vantage ground of a fallen log or overhanging bank, looks down on the housekeeping affairs of his tiny neighbors has the right spirit. Indeed, I doubt whether these little folk are aware of his presence or curiosity.

Time was when the enjoyment of brook-life was limited to boys. White aprons, dainty slippers and fear of being called "Tom-boy" restrained the natural impulses of the "little women." Happily that day is past, and it no longer looks queer for girls to live in the open air and sunshine, free to chase butterflies and hunt water-bugs with their brothers.

My brooks abound in swift eddies, perfect whirlpools in miniature, and water-falls of assorted sizes. They have also their quiet reaches, where whirligig beetles perform their marvelous gyrations, and bright-eyed polliwogs twirl their tails in early May. On the banks are ferns and mosses; sometimes willows and alders form a fringing border.

The heart-leaved willows along many brooksides are found to bear at the tips of many of their branches, knob-like bodies which look like pine cones. ([Fig. 49].) Now everybody knows that willows bear their seeds in catkins. Why, then, should so many brookside willows thrust these cones in our faces? On cutting one of the cones open, we learn the secret. A tiny colorless grub rolls helplessly out of a cell in the very centre of the cone. It is the young of a small gnat, scarcely larger than a mosquito, and known as a "gall gnat." The cone-shaped body on the willow branch is called a "pine-cone willow-gall." The little gray gnat comes out in the spring. Any one can collect the galls from the willows and keep them in some kind of cage in the house until the gnats come forth.

Fig. 49. Knob-like bodies resembling pine cones.

The pine-cone gall is an enlarged and deformed bud. The twig might have developed into a branch but for the presence of the little larva. The scales of the cone are the parts which under more favorable conditions would have been leaves. The brook-lover cannot afford to miss the pine-cone willow-galls.

Wandering along the brookside in spring or early summer, one is surprised to find so many insect visitors darting about in the air. There are dragon-flies of many shapes, sizes and colors; dainty damsel-flies perch airily on reeds, their gleaming wings a-flutter in the sunshine; sometimes a nervous mud-wasp alights for a moment, and then up and away. The dragon-flies seem intent on coming as near to the water as possible without wetting their wings. They pay no heed to other visitors, yet how easily they escape the net of the would be collector! Let them alone. Their business is important if we would have a new generation of dragon-flies to delight the eye next year. The eggs of these creatures are left in the water and the young ones are aquatic. If you would know more of them, dip down into the stream in some sluggish bay. Dip deep and trail the net among the water plants. Besides dragon-fly nymphs there will be caddice-worm cases like tiny cob-houses, water-boatmen, back-swimmers, and giant water-bugs.[14] These are insects characteristic of still or sluggish water, and are found in spring and summer.

Fig. 50. Water-striders have long, thin legs.

The insects which skip lightly over the surface of the water where the current is not too strong, are water-striders. ([Fig. 50].) Some are short and stout, others slender-bodied; but all have long thin legs. Their color is nearly black. As they scurry about in the sunshine the delighted watcher will sometimes catch a glimpse of their reflections on the bottom. Six oval bits of shadow, outlined by rims of light; there is nothing else like it! Be sure you see it.

Fig. 51. The dobson makes no pretensions to beauty. (Natural size).

Let us leave the quiet, restful pools and the sluggish bays, and follow the hurrying water to the rapids. Every stone changes the course of the current and the babble makes glad the heart of the wayfarer. Let us "leave no stone unturned," until we have routed from his favorite haunt that genius of the rapids, the dobson. ([Fig. 51].) These creatures bear other common names. They are prized by fishermen in the black bass season. Dirty brown in color and frankly ugly in appearance and disposition, these larvæ, for such they are, have little to fear from the casual visitor at the water's edge. When a stone is lifted, the dobsons beneath it allow themselves to be hurried along for some distance by the current. The danger over, they "catch hold" and await their prey farther down stream. In spite of their vicious looking jaws these insects are not venomous. At the very worst they could do no more than pinch the finger of the unwary explorer.

When the dobson is full grown, it is called a hellgrammite fly or horned corydalis. It has lost none of its ugliness, though it has gained two pairs of thin, brownish-gray wings, and flies about in the evening. It has been known to create some consternation by flying in at an open window. It is harmless and short-lived in the adult stage.

Upturned stones are likely to bring to view other strangers. Lying close against these wet stony surfaces one usually finds young May-flies. ([Fig. 52].[15]) These, like the young dragon-flies, are called nymphs.

Fig. 52. May-fly nymph. (Three times natural size)

When they are ready to leave the water they make their way to the shore, and, clinging to some convenient tree trunk or building, they shed their nymph skins. I have seen trees and buildings on the banks of the St. Lawrence river literally covered with these cast skins. In the early morning in June and July one may watch the molting process, the unfolding of the gauzy wings, and the unsheathing of the long filaments. ([Fig. 53.])

Do not believe that May-flies are harmful. They are sometimes too numerous for comfort at summer resorts where myriads of them swarm about the lights; but stories of their stinging and biting are entirely without foundation. They are short-lived in the adult stage. The name of the family to which they belong, Ephemeridæ, suggests their ephemeral existence. It is of these that poets have sung.

Stone-fly nymphs, also, cling closely to the flat stones. The cast skins of these are frequently found on the banks of streams. They resemble the May-fly nymphs but can be identified by a comparison with these illustrations. ([Fig. 54].)

Sometimes on the very brink of a cataract one will see what appear like patches of loose black moss. Strangely enough, these are the larvæ of black-flies, related to the terrible black-fly of the north woods. The black-fly larvæ can live only in the swiftest water. There they pass through their transformations and succeed in emerging into their aërial stage, in spite of the rushing current.

Fig. 53. The May-fly sheds its nymph skin. (Twice natural size.)

All these things and many more are seen by those who frequent the water brooks. Observers cannot tell all they see, for some things are too deep for words. They can and do say to one and all, "Come, let us visit the brook together. The water and all that dwell in it and round about, invite us and make us welcome."

Fig. 54. Stone-fly, showing one pair of wings. The lower figure is a nymph. (Twice natural size.)

LEAFLET XII.
LIFE IN AN AQUARIUM.[16]
By MARY ROGERS MILLER.

There is no more fascinating adjunct to nature-study than a well-kept aquarium. It is a never-ending source of enjoyment, interest and instruction to students of any age. Children in the kindergarten or at home will watch with delight the lively occupants, which cut all sorts of queer capers for their amusement, and older people may read some of nature's choicest secrets through the glassy sides of the little water world. To many, the word aquarium suggests a vision of an elaborately constructed glass box, ornamented with impossible rock-work and strange water plants, or a globe in which discouraged and sickly-looking gold-fish appear and disappear, and take strange, uncanny shapes as they dart hither and thither.

Such forms of aquaria have their place in the world, but they are not suited to the needs of an ordinary school-room. Every school may have some sort of an aquarium if the teacher and pupils are willing to give it some daily thought and care. Without such attention a fine aquarium may become an unsightly and disagreeable object, its inhabitants unhealthy and its beauty and usefulness lost.

The great fundamental principle underlying success in making and maintaining an aquarium is this: imitate nature. We all know how much easier it is to formulate a principle, and even to write a book about it, than to put it into practice. Most of us have not had the time and opportunity for the close observation of nature necessary to interpret her methods and to imitate her. It is to those teachers who are anxious to learn what nature has to teach and who wish to lead their pupils to a higher and wider conception of life, that these suggestions are offered.

Four things are important in making and keeping an aquarium:

1. The equilibrium between plant and animal life must be secured and maintained. It is probable that an aquarium in an elementary school is mainly used for the study of animal life; but animals do not thrive in water where no plants are growing. Nature keeps plants and animals in the same pond and we must follow her lead. The plants have three valuable functions in the aquarium. First, they supply food for the herbivorous creatures. Second, they give off a quantity of oxygen which is necessary to the life of the animals. Third, they take up from the water the harmful carbonic acid gas which passes from the bodies of the animals. Just how the plants do this is another story.

Fig. 55. A museum-jar aquarium. (More animal life would make a better equilibrium.)

2. The aquarium must be ventilated. Its top should be broad and open. Every little fish, snail and insect wants air, just as every boy and girl wants it. A certain quantity of air is mixed with the water, and the creatures must breathe that or come to the surface for their supply. How does Mother Nature manage the ventilation of her aquaria,—the ponds and streams? The plants furnish part of the air, as we have said. The open pond, whose surface is ruffled by every passing breeze, is constantly being provided with fresh air. A tadpole or a fish can no more live in a long-necked bottle than a boy can live in a chimney.

3. The temperature should be kept between 40° and 50° Fahr. Both nature and experience teach us this. A shady corner is a better place for the aquarium than a sunny window on a warm day.

4. It is well to choose such animals for the aquarium as are adapted to life in still water. Unless one has an arrangement of water pipes to supply a constant flow of water through the aquarium, it is better not to try to keep creatures that we find in swift streams.

Practical experience shows that there are certain dangers to guard against,—dangers which may result in the unnecessary suffering of the innocent. Perhaps the most serious results come from overstocking. It is better to have too few plants or animals than too many of either. A great deal of light, especially bright sunlight, is not good for the aquarium. A pond that is not shaded soon becomes green with a thick growth of slime or algæ. This does not look well in an aquarium and is likely to take up so much of the plant-food that the other plants are "starved out." The plants in the school-room window may provide shade for the aquarium, just as the trees and shrubs on its banks shade the pond. If we find green slime forming on the light side of our miniature pond, we should put it in a darker place, shade it heavily so that the light comes in from the top only, and put in a few more snails. These will make quick work of the green slime, since they are fond of it, if we are not.

Fig. 56. A rectangular glass aquarium.

Some of the most innocent-looking "water nymphs" may be concealing habits that we can hardly approve. There are some which feed on their smaller and weaker neighbors, and even on the members of their own families. We know that such things go on in nature, but if we wish to have a happy family we must keep the cannibals by themselves.

After an aquarium has been filled with water and the inhabitants well established, it is not necessary to change the water, except in case of accident. The water that is lost by evaporation has to be replaced. It should be poured in gently in order not to disturb the water and destroy its clearness. If a piece of rubber tubing is available, a practical use of the siphon can be shown and the aquarium replenished at the same time. It is a good plan to use rain water, or clear water from a pond, for this purpose.

A piece of thin board or a pane of glass may be used as a cover to keep the dust out of the aquarium. This need not fit tightly or be left on all the time. A wire netting or a cover of thin cotton net would keep the flying insects from escaping, and it might be tied on permanently. Dust may be skimmed off the top of the water or may be removed by laying pieces of blotting paper on the surface for a moment.

If any of the inhabitants do not take kindly to the life in the aquarium, they can be taken out and kept in a jar by themselves—a sort of fresh air and cold water cure. If any chance to die they ought to be removed before they make the water unfit for the others. Bits of charcoal in the water are helpful if a deodorizer or disinfectant is needed.

Experience, the dear but thorough teacher, is of more value to every one of us than many rules and precepts. Nothing can rob us of the pleasure that comes of finding things out for ourselves. Much of the fun as well as much of the success in life comes from overcoming its difficulties. One must have a large store of patience and courage and hopefulness to undertake the care of an aquarium. After it is once made it is less trouble to take care of than a canary or a pet rabbit. But most things that are worth doing require patience, courage and hopefulness, and if we can add to our store of any of these by our study of life in an aquarium we are so much the better for it.

Fig. 57. A home-made aquarium.

Two kinds of aquaria will be found useful in any school. Permanent ones—those which are expected to continue through a season or through a whole year if the school-room is warm enough to prevent freezing; and temporary ones—those which are for lesson hours or for the study of special forms.

If some one phase in the life of any aquatic animal is to be studied during a short period, it is well to have special temporary aquaria. Also, when a talk on some of the occupants of the larger aquarium is to be given, specimens may be placed in small vessels for the time being and returned later. For such purposes glass tumblers can be used, or small fruit jars, finger bowls, broken goblets set in blocks of wood, ordinary white bowls or dishes, tubs, pails or tanks for large fishes,—in fact any wide-mouthed vessel which is easy to get. Special suggestions will be made in connection with the study of some of the water insects and others.

A permanent aquarium need not be an expensive affair. The rectangular ones are best if large fishes are to be kept, yet they are not essential. Here, again, it is easier to write directions for the construction of a perfect aquarium than it is for the most patient teacher, with the help of the boys who are handy with tools, to put together a box of wood and glass that will not spring a leak some day and spoil everything. But failures do not discourage us; they make us only more determined. If a rectangular water-tight box is out of the question, what is the next best thing? One of the busiest laboratories in New York State has plants and animals living in jars of all shapes and sizes,—fruit jars, glass butter jars, candy jars, battery jars, museum jars, and others of like nature. There are rectangular and round aquaria of various sizes kept by all firms who deal in laboratory supplies, and if some money is to be spent, one of these is a good investment. [Fig. 56] shows one of these rectangular ones, and [Fig. 57] shows a round one of small size which is useful and does not cost much.

A Good School Aquarium.

A cheap, substantial aquarium for general use may be made of glass and "angle" or "valley" tin. Pieces of glass are always handy and the tin can be had at any tin-shop. The tinsmith will know just how to cut, "angle" and solder it.

The following directions for making an aquarium of this kind are supplied us by Professor C. F. Hodge of Clark University. He has made and used them for years with great satisfaction in the university laboratory and in graded schools.

The illustration ([Fig. 58], [59]) shows various sizes. A good all-round size has these dimensions: 12 inches high, 15 inches long and 8 inches wide. One may use spoiled photographic plates for small desk aquaria, in which to watch the development of "wigglers," dragon-fly nymphs or other water insects. Lids of wire screen are shown on some of the aquaria in the picture (1, 2 and 3).

To make the frame.—If the aquarium is to be 10 x 8 x 5 inches, we shall need two pieces of glass for sides 10 x 5 inches, two for ends 8 x 10, and one for bottom 8 x 5; and two strips of tin ³/₄ inch wide, 28 inches long, and four strips 10³/₈ inches long. These should be angled by the tinner, and out of them we shall make the frame. The 28-inch strips should be cut with tinner's snips half way in two at 10³/₈, 5³/₈, 10³/₈ and 5³/₈ inches, cutting off the end at the last mark. This keeps the top and the bottom of the frame each in one piece. Next we bend them into shape. When the corners are well squared they should be soldered. The four 10³/₈ pieces make the vertical corners and we will solder them in place. An easy way to be sure that each angle is square is to hold it in a mechanic's square while soldering it.

Figs. 58, 59. Permanent aquarium made of tin and glass.

To set the glass.—Lay the aquarium cement (see recipe) on evenly all around the bottom of the frame and press the bottom glass into place. Put in the sides and ends in the same way. Next carefully put a few very limber twigs into the aquarium to hold the glass against the frame till the cement takes hold. Cut off the extra cement with a knife and smooth it nicely. Cover the frame with asphaltum varnish or black lacquer. In a week it will be ready to use.

Double thick glass must be used for large aquaria.

Cement.—Shun all resinous cements that require to be put on hot. The following is a recipe for cement used in successful angle tin aquaria, for both salt and fresh water:

• 10 parts, by measure, fine, dry, white sand,
• 10 parts plaster of Paris,
• 10 parts litharge,
• 1 part powdered resin.

Stir well together and, as wanted, mix to consistency of stiff putty with pure boiled linseed oil.

The formula given by the U. S. Fish Commission is recommended:

• 8 parts putty,
• 1 part red lead,
• 1 part litharge.

Mix, when wanted, to consistency of stiff putty, with raw linseed oil.

After reading all these directions and getting the idea of an aquarium, one should think the whole matter out for himself and make it just as he wants it. Directions are useful as suggestions only. The shallow form is better for raising toads, frogs and insect larvæ; the deeper aquaria show water plants and fishes to better advantage.

Inhabitants of the Aquarium.

Fig. 60. Eel-grass.

It is now time to begin to think about what shall be kept in the aquarium. At the bottom a layer of sand, the cleaner the better, two or three inches deep will be needed. A few stones, not too large, may be dropped in on top of this first layer, to make it more natural. The water plants come next and will thrive best if planted securely in the sand. The most difficult thing is to get the water in without stirring things up. A good way is to pour the water in a slow stream against the inside of the aquarium. The best way is to use a rubber tube siphon, but even then the water ought not to flow from a very great height. If the aquarium is large, it had better be put in its permanent place before filling.

The aquarium will soon be ready for snails, polliwogs, and what ever else we may wish to put into it. In the course of a few days the plants will be giving up oxygen and asking for carbon dioxid.

Fig. 61. Duck-weed.

Plants that thrive and are useful in aquaria.—Many of the common marsh or pond plants are suitable. The accompanying illustrations show a few of these. Nothing can be prettier than some of these soft, delicate plants in the water. The eel-grass, or tape grass ([Fig. 60]), is an interesting study in itself, especially at blossoming time when the spiral stems, bearing flowers, appear.

Any who are especially interested in the life-history of this plant may read in reference books a great deal about what other observers have learned from the plant concerning its methods of growth and development. The best that we learn will be what the plant itself tells us day by day.

Some of the best reference books on both plant and animal life are found in the New York State Teachers' Library and can be obtained by teachers through the school commissioners.

Fig. 62. Water plants.

Every boy and girl who likes to taste the fresh, peppery plants which they find growing in cold springs, knows watercress. If the aquarium is not too deep, this plant will grow above the surface and furnish a resting place for some snail which, tired perhaps by its constant activity, enjoys a few minutes in the open air.

Duck-weed or duck's-meat ([Fig. 61]) grows on the surface, dangling its long thread-like roots in the water. A little of it is enough. Too much would keep us from looking down upon our little friends in the water.

Fig. 63. Snail.

The parrot's feather ([Fig. 62], A) is an ornamental water plant that can be obtained from a florist; a plant that looks very like it grows in our ponds. It is called water-milfoil.

The water purslane, B, or the common stoneworts, Nitella and Chara, D, E, the waterweed, F, and the horn-wort, C, appear graceful and pretty in the water. If you do not find any of these, you are sure to find others growing in the ponds in your neighborhood which will answer the purpose just as well.

Fig. 64. Snail with conical shell.

Animals that may be kept in aquaria.—The snail. The common pond snail with the spiral shell, either flat or conical, can be found clinging to the stems of the cat-tails or flags and to floating rubbish in ponds or swamps. If these are picked off carefully and taken home in a pail of water they will be valuable inhabitants for the aquarium. They are vegetable feeders and unless there is some green slime in the water, cabbage or lettuce leaves may be put where the snails can get them. The eggs of the snail are excellent food for fishes, and if a few could be secured for special study, their form, habits and development may be made delightful observation and drawing lessons. Snails can be kept out of the water for some time on moist earth. Land snails and slugs should be kept on wet sand and fed with lettuce and cabbage leaves. The common slug of the garden is often injurious to vegetation. It may always be tracked by the trail of slime it leaves behind it. Gardeners often protect plants from those creatures by sprinkling wood-ashes about them.

Minnows. Every boy knows where to find these spry little fellows. They can be collected with a dipper or net and will thrive in an aquarium if fed with earth worms or flies or other insects. If kept in small quarters where food is scarce, they will soon dispatch the other occupants of the jar. They will, however, eat bits of fresh meat. If the aquarium is large enough, it would hardly be complete without minnows.

Cat fish.—It will not be practicable to keep a cat fish in the permanent aquarium. If one is to be studied it can be obtained at any fish market or by angling, the latter a slow method, but one which will appeal to every boy in the class. The cat fish should be kept in a tub, tank, or large pan of water, and if not wanted for laboratory work, they might be fried for lunch, as cat fish are very good eating.

Gold fish are a special delight if kept in large aquaria. These may often be obtained from dealers in the larger cities. Those who wish other fish for study should be able to get information from the New York State Fish Culturist, concerning the species that are suited to life in still water, and how to get and take care of them.

Fig. 65. "Frog spawn."

The clam.—If empty clam shells are plenty on the bank of some stream after a freshet, a supply of clams may be obtained by raking the mud or sand at the bottom of the stream. They can be kept in a shallow pan, and if the water is warmish and they are left undisturbed for a time, they will move about. If kept in a jar of damp sand they will probably bury themselves. They feed on microscopic plants and might not thrive in the permanent aquarium.

Crawfish or crayfish.—These can be collected with nets from under stones in creeks or ponds. They can live very comfortably out of the water part of the time. There is small chance for the unsuspecting snail or water insect which comes within reach of the hungry jaws of the crawfish, and the temporary aquarium is the safest place for him. Many who live near the ocean can obtain and keep in sea water the lobster, a cousin of the crawfish, and will find that the habits of either will afford much amusement as well as instruction. The school boy generally knows the crawfish as a "crab."

The frog.—The study of the development of the common frog is accompanied with little or no difficulty. To be sure there are some species which require two or three years to complete their growth and changes, from the egg to the adult, yet most of the changes can be seen in one year. Frogs are not at all shy in the spring, proclaiming their whereabouts in no uncertain tones from every pond in the neighborhood. The "frog spawn" can be found clinging to plants or rubbish in masses varying in size from a cluster of two or three eggs to great lumps as large as the two fists. The "spawn" is a transparent jelly in which the eggs are imbedded. Each egg is dark colored, spherical in shape, and about as large as a small pea. The eggs of the small spotted salamander are found in similar masses of jelly and look very much like the frog's eggs. If a small quantity of this jelly-like mass be secured by means of a collecting net or by wading in for it, it may be kept in a flat white dish with just enough clean, cool water to cover it, until the young tadpoles have hatched. As they grow larger a few may be transferred to a permanent aquarium prepared especially for them in a dish with sloping sides, and their changes watched from week to week through the season. The growing polliwog feeds on vegetable diet; what does the full grown frog eat?

Fig. 66. A useful net for general collecting.

Insects that can be kept in aquaria.—Insects are to many the most satisfactory creatures that can be keep in aquaria. They are plentiful, easy to get, each one of the many kinds seems to have habits peculiar to itself, and each more curious and interesting than the last.

Some insects spend their entire life in the water; others are aquatic during one stage of their existence only. Those described here are a few of the common ones in ponds and sluggish streams, of the central part of the state of New York. If these cannot be found, others just as interesting may be kept instead. One can hardly make a single dip with a net without bringing out of their hiding places many of these "little people."

Fig. 67. The predaceous diving-beetle.

The predaceous diving-beetle ([Fig. 67]) is well named. He is a diver by profession and is a skilled one. The young of this beetle are known as "water-tigers" ([Fig. 68]), and their habits justify the name. Their food consists of the young of other insects; in fact it is better to keep them by themselves unless we wish to have the aquarium depopulated. When the tiger has reached his full size, his form changes and he rests for a time as a pupa; then comes forth as a hard, shiny beetle like Fig. 67.

Fig. 68. A water-tiger.

The water-scavenger beetle ([Fig. 69]), so called because of its appetite for decayed matter, is common in many ponds. It has, like the diving beetle, a hard, shiny back, with a straight line down the middle, but the two can be distinguished when seen together. The young of this beetle look and act something like the water-tigers, but have not such great ugly jaws.

Fig. 69. A water-scavenger beetle.

There are three other swimmers even more delightful to watch than those already mentioned. The water-boatmen ([Fig. 70]), with their sturdy oar-like legs and business-like way of using them, are droll little fellows. They are not so large as the back-swimmers. Fig. 71 shows a back-swimmer just in the act of pulling a stroke. These creatures swim with their boat-shaped backs down and their six legs up. We must be careful how we handle the back-swimmers, for each one of them carries a sharp bill and may give us a thrust with it which would be painful, perhaps poisonous.

Fig. 70. Water-boatman.

The water-scorpion ([Fig. 72]) is a queer creature living in a neighborly way with the boatmen and back-swimmers, though not so easy to find. Do not throw away any dirty little twig which you find in the net after a dip among water plants near the bottom of a stream or pond. It may begin to squirm and reveal the fact that it is no twig but a slender-legged insect with a spindle-shaped body. We may handle it without danger, as it is harmless. This is a water-scorpion, and his way of catching his prey and getting his air supply will be interesting to watch. He is not shy and will answer questions about himself promptly and cheerfully. [Fig. 72] will give an idea of the size and appearance of this insect.

Fig. 71. A back-swimmer.

No water insect except the big scavenger beetle can begin to compare in size with the giant water-bug ([Fig. 73]). We may think at first that he is a beetle, yet the way he crosses his wings on his back proves him a true bug. In quiet ponds these giants are common enough, but the boy or girl who "bags" a full-grown one at the first dip of the net may be considered lucky.

The boatmen, back-swimmers and giants all have oars, yet are not entirely dependent on them. They have strong wings, too, and if their old home gets too thickly settled, and the other insects on which they feed are scarce, they fly away to other places. The giant water-bug often migrates at night, and is attracted to any bright light he sees in his journey. This habit has given him the popular name of "electric-light bug."

Fig. 72. Water-scorpion.

Fig. 73. Giant water-bug.

Among the insects which spend but part of their life in the water, we shall find many surprises. It made us feel queer when we learned that the restless but innocent-looking wiggler of the rain-water barrel was really the young of the too familiar mosquito. The adult mosquito leaves its eggs in tiny boat-shaped masses on the surface of stagnant water, where food will be abundant for the young which soon appear. Some time is spent by the wigglers in eating and growing before they curl up into pupæ. Insects are rarely active in the pupa stage. The mosquito is one of the very few exceptions. From these lively pupæ the full-grown mosquitoes emerge. [Fig. 74] shows a small glass tumbler in which are seen the three aquatic stages of the mosquito's life and an adult just leaving the pupa skin. Nothing is easier than to watch the entire development of the mosquito, and the changes must be seen to be fully enjoyed and appreciated. It would be interesting to note the differences between the mosquitoes that come out of the small aquaria. A supply of wigglers may be kept in the permanent aquarium where they serve as food for the other insects.

Every child knows the dragon-fly or darning-needle, and none but the bravest of them dare venture near one without covering ears or eyes or mouth, for fear of being sewed. Many and wide-spread are the superstitions concerning this insect, and it is often difficult to bring children to believe that this creature, besides being a thing of beauty, is not only harmless but actually beneficial. If they knew how many mosquitoes the darning-needle eats in a day they would welcome instead of fearing the gay creature.

Fig. 74. Temporary aquarium, containing eggs, larvæ and pupæ of mosquito.

The young of the dragon-fly live a groveling existence, as different as can be from that of their sun-loving parents. Their food consists of mosquito larvæ, water-fleas and the like, and their method of catching their prey is as novel as it is effective. Pupils and teacher can get plenty of good healthy entertainment out of the behavior of these awkward and voracious little mask-wearers. The first dip of the net usually brings up a supply of dragon-fly nymphs and of their more slender cousins, the damsel-fly nymphs. The latter have expanded plate-like appendages at the hind end of the body which distinguish them from the dragon-fly nymphs.

Fig. 75. The life history of a dragon-fly as seen in an aquarium.

The transformation of one of these young insects into an adult is one of the most interesting observation lessons that can be imagined for a warm spring morning. If a dragon-fly nymph should signify its intention of changing its form in my school-room, I should certainly suspend all ordinary work and attend to him alone. Each child should see if possible this wonderful transfiguration.

Floating in the water of a pond or stream one may find a little bundle of grass or weed stems, with perhaps a tiny pebble clinging to the mass. Close examination will prove this to be the "house-boat" of one of our insect neighbors, the caddice-worm. Contrasting strangely with the untidy exterior is the neat interior, with its lining of delicate silk, so smooth that the soft-bodied creature which lives inside is safe from injury. The commonest of the many forms of houses found here are those illustrated in [Figs. 76] and [77]. These will find all they wish to eat in a well-stocked aquarium. When full grown they will leave the water as winged creatures, like [Fig. 78], and return to its depths no more.

Fig. 76. Case of caddice-worm

Fig. 77. Another caddice-worm case.

Fig. 78. Caddice-fly.

There is surely no lack of material furnished by Mother Nature for the study of aquatic life. Every one who really believes in its usefulness can have an aquarium, and will feel well repaid for the time and effort required when the renewed interest in nature is witnessed which this close contact with living beings brings to every student. Let us take hold with a will, overcome the difficulties in the way, and teacher and pupils become students together.

LEAFLET XIII.
A STUDY OF FISHES.[17]
By H. D. REED.

The first forms of animal life which attract the young naturalist's attention are doubtless the birds. These are most interesting to him because of their beautiful colors, their sweet songs, and the grace with which they fly. But who has watched the fishes in a brook or an aquarium and is not able to grant them a place, in beauty, grace and delicate coloration, equal to the birds? To be sure, fishes cannot sing, yet there are so many other interesting facts in connection with their habits and life-histories that it fully makes up for their lack of voice.

The Parts of a Fish.

While observing a living fish and admiring its beauty, it will probably occur to some of us that a fish consists only of a head and tail. Yet this is not all. Between the head and tail is a part that we may call the trunk. It contains the digestive and other organs. There is no indication of a neck in a fish. Any such constriction would destroy the regular outline of the animal's body and thus retard the speed with which it moves through the water. But head, trunk and tail are not all. There are attached to the outer side of the fish's body certain appendages that are called fins.

Before discussing some of the different kinds of fishes and their habits, it will be necessary to learn something about fins, for the fins of all fishes are not alike. When a fish moves through the water, it bends its tail first to one side and then to the other. This undulatory movement, as it is called, pushes the fish's body ahead. One can observe the movements easily upon a specimen kept alive in an aquarium jar. At the extreme end of the tail there is a broad, notched fin which aids the tail in propelling and steering the body. We will call this the tail or caudal fin ([Fig. 79] B). In most of our common fishes there are seven fins—six without the caudal. The first of these six is a large fin situated near the middle of the back. This is the back or dorsal fin ([Fig. 79] A). Sometimes we may find a fish that has two dorsal fins. In this case the one nearest the head is called first dorsal and the next one behind it the second dorsal. Near the head, in a position corresponding to our arms, is a pair of fins which are called the arm or pectoral fins ([Fig. 79] E). Farther back towards the tail, on the under side of the fish, is another pair, corresponding in position to the hind legs of a quadruped. This pair is called the leg or pelvic fins ([Fig. 79] D). Just behind the pelvic fins is a single fin, situated on the middle line of the body. This is the anal fin ([Fig. 79] C). The pectoral and pelvic fins are called paired fins because they are in pairs. The others which are not in pairs are called median fins, because they are situated on the middle line of the body. The paired fins serve as delicate balancers to keep the body right side up and to regulate speed. They are also used to propel the body backwards. After naming the different fins of the fish in the schoolroom aquarium, it will be interesting to observe the uses of each.

Fig. 79. Diagram of a fish to show: A, dorsal fin; B, caudal fin; C, anal fin; D, pelvic fins; E, pectoral fins; L, lateral line.

On the side of the body, extending from the head to the caudal fin, is, in most fishes, a line made up of a series of small tubes which open upon the surface. This is called the lateral line, and acts in the capacity of a sense organ ([Fig. 79] L). Is the lateral line straight or curved? Does it curve upwards or downwards? Does the curvature differ in different kinds of fishes? Do all the fishes you find possess a lateral line? Is the lateral line complete in all fishes, i. e., does it extend from the head to the caudal fin without a single break?

Where Fishes Spend the Winter.

Fig. 80. 1, Shiner; 2, Barred Killifish; 3, Black-nosed Dace; 4, Creek Chub; 5, Young of Large-mouthed Black Bass; 6, Varying-toothed Minnow.

As winter approaches and the leaves fall and the ground becomes frozen, the birds leave us and go farther south into warmer climates where food is more abundant. We are all familiar with this habit of the birds, but how many of us know or have even wondered what the fishes have been doing through the cold winter months while the streams and ponds have been covered with ice? Before the warmth of spring comes to raise the temperature of the streams, let us go to some familiar place in a brook where, during the summer, are to be found scores of minnows. None are to be found now. The brook shows no signs of ever having contained any living creatures. Suppose we go farther up or down the stream until we find a protected pool the bottom of which is covered with sediment and water-soaked leaves. With our net we will dip up some of the leaves and sediment, being sure that we dip from the very bottom. On looking over this mass of muddy material we may find a fish two or three inches long, with very fine scales, a black back, a silvery belly and a blackish or brown band on the side of the body extending from the tip of the nose to the tail. This is the Black-nosed Dace ([Fig. 80]). If specimens of this fish are caught very early in the spring, one will be able to watch some interesting color changes. As the spawning time approaches, the dark band on the sides and the fins change to a bright crimson. Sometimes the whole body may be of this gaudy color. During the summer the lateral band becomes orange. As the season goes, the bright colors gradually fade until finally, in the fall and winter, the little black-nose is again clothed in his more modest attire. A great many of the fishes, and especially the larger ones, seek some deep pond or pool in the stream at the approach of winter, and remain near the bottom. If the pond or stream is so deep that they do not become chilled they will remain active, swimming about and taking food all winter. But when the stream is very shallow and the fishes feel the cold, they settle down to the bottom, moving about very little and taking little or no food. The carp collect in small numbers and pass the winter in excavations that they make in the muddy bottom. If the débris thrown up by the water across the marshy end of a lake be raked over during the winter, one will probably find some of the smaller catfishes spending the season in a semi-dormant state.

Fig. 81. The Common Catfish or Bullhead.

Some interesting experiments may be tried with the fishes in the aquarium jar. Keep them for a few days where it is cold and then bring them into a warmer room and note the difference in their activity.

The Common Catfish or Bullhead.

This sleepy old fellow differs in many respects from most of our common fishes. He has no scales. About the mouth are eight long whisker-like appendages, called barbels ([Fig. 81]). Perhaps he is called catfish because he has whiskers about his mouth like a cat. Any one who has ever taken a catfish from the hook probably knows that care is needed in order not to receive a painful prick from the sharp spines in his pectoral and dorsal fins.

There is nothing aristocratic about the catfish. In warm pools and streams where the water is sluggish and the muddy bottom is covered with weeds, he may be found moving lazily about in search of food. His taste is not delicate. Animal substance, whether living or dead, satisfies him. When in search of food he makes good use of his barbels, especially those at the corners of his mouth, which he uses as feelers. The catfish will live longer out of water than most of our other food fishes. They will live and thrive in water which is far too impure for "pumpkin seeds" or bass. They spawn late in the spring. The mother fish cares for her young much as a hen cares for her chickens. When they are old enough to take care of themselves, she weans them.

The Common Sunfish or Pumpkin Seed.

Some evening just at sunset visit a quiet pool in a nearby stream. Drop in your hook baited with an "angle worm" and presently the dancing cork shows that you have a "bite." On "pulling up" you find that you really have a fish. It is a beautiful creature, too—thin flat body shaped something like the seed of a pumpkin. His back is an olive green delicately shaded with blue. His sides are spotted with orange, while his belly is a bright yellow. His cheeks are orange-color streaked with wavy lines of blue. Just behind his eye on his "ear-flap" is a bright scarlet spot. This is the common Sunfish or Pumpkin Seed ([Fig. 82]). He is a very beautiful, aristocratic little fellow, "looking like a brilliant coin fresh from the mint."

Fig. 82. The common Sunfish or Pumpkin Seed.

Keep him alive in an aquarium jar with a shiner. Compare the two fishes, as to the size and shape of their bodies and fins. Feed them different kinds of food, such as worms, insects and crackers, and try to discover which they like best and how they eat.

The sunfishes prefer quiet waters. They lay their eggs in the spring of the year. The male selects a spot near the banks of the stream or pond where the water is very shallow. Here he clears a circular area about a foot in diameter. After making a slight excavation in the gravel or sand, the nest is completed. The eggs are then deposited by the female in the basin-like excavation. He watches his nest and eggs with great diligence, driving away other fishes that chance to come near.

The Black Basses.

The black basses are not usually found in small streams where it is most pleasant for teachers and pupils to fish. They are fishes that seek the rivers and lakes. There are two kinds of black bass, the Large-mouthed and the Small-mouthed. As the name indicates, the two may be distinguished by the size of the mouth. In the large-mouthed black bass the upper jaw extends to a point behind the eye, while in the small-mouthed species it extends to a point just below the middle of the eye ([Fig. 83]).

Fig. 83. Adult Small-mouthed Black Bass.

Both kinds of black bass may be found in the same body of water. The character of the bottoms over which they are found, however, differs. The small-mouthed prefers the stony bars or shoals. The large-mouthed, on the contrary, selects a muddy bottom grown over with reeds. They feed upon crayfish ("crabs"), minnows, frogs, worms, tadpoles and insects. Our black basses are very queer parents. They prepare a nest in which the eggs are deposited. Both male and female are very courageous in the defense of their eggs and young. As soon as the young fishes are able to take care of themselves the parent fishes leave them, and after that time may even feed upon their own children.

The Stickleback.

Fig. 84. A Stickleback.

The sticklebacks are queer little fellows indeed ([Fig. 84]). The slender body, extremely narrow tail, and the sharp, free spines in front of the dorsal fin, give them at once the appearance of being both active and pugnacious little creatures. The sticklebacks are detrimental to the increase of other fishes since they greedily destroy the spawn and young of all fishes that come within their reach. They build nests about two inches in diameter, with a hole in the top. After the eggs are laid the male defends the nest with great bravery. The little five-spined brook stickleback in the Cayuga Lake basin, N. Y., is most commonly found in stagnant pools, shaded by trees, where the water is filled with decaying vegetable matter,—the so-called "green frog-spawn" (spirogyra), and duck weed. If you supply the sticklebacks with plenty of fine vegetable material, you may induce them to built a nest in the aquarium jar, but they must be caught and placed in the jar early in the season before they spawn.

The Johnny Darters.

In New York State, every swift stream which has a bed of gravel and flat stones ought to contain some one of the Johnny darters, for there are a great many different kinds ([Fig. 85]). They are little creatures, delighting in clear water and swift currents where they dart about, hiding under stones and leaves, or resting on the bottom with their heads up-stream. The body of a darter is compact and spindle-shaped, gradually tapering from the short head to a narrow tail. The eyes are situated nearly on top of the head. The color of the darters varies greatly with the different kinds. Some are very plain, the light ground color being broken only by a few brown markings. Others are gorgeous in their colorings, it seeming as if they had attempted to reproduce the rainbow on their sides. Such kinds are indeed very attractive and are ranked with the most beautifully colored of all our common fishes. When a darter swims, he appears bird-like, for he flies through the water much as a bird flies through the air. He does not use his tail alone in swimming, as the catfish, the sunfish, the stickleback, and most of the other fishes do, but flies with his pectoral fins.

Fig. 85. A Johnny Darter.

You surely must have a Johnny darter in your aquarium jar. The Johnnies are true American fishes. Though small, they face the strong currents and eke out a living where their larger cousin, the yellow perch, would perish. There are many interesting facts which may be learned from the Johnny darters when kept alive in an aquarium. When not actually moving in the water, do the Johnnies rest on the bottom of the jar or remain suspended in the middle apparently resting on nothing, as the other aquarium fishes do? When a fish remains still in the middle of the jar he does so because he has a well-developed air-bladder to help buoy him up, and when a fish dies it is the air-bladder which causes him to turn over and rise to the top. Now if the Johnnies always rest on the bottom of the jar when not swimming and if one happens to die and does not rise to the top we may know that, if he has an air-bladder at all, it is only a vestigial one. It would be interesting also to find out for ourselves whether a Johnny darter can really "climb trees" (I mean by trees, of course, the water plants in the aquarium jar), or if he can perch upon the branches like a bird.

The Minnows.

Fig. 86. A convenient form of aquarium jar supplied with water plants. The bottom is covered with clean sand and flat stones.

All the small fishes of the brooks are called minnows, or more often "minnies," by the boy fisherman. The boy believes that they grow into larger fishes. This is not true. The minnows are a distinct group of fishes and, for the most part, small ones. They do not grow to be bass or pike or sunfishes or anything else but minnows. Some of the minnows, however, are comparatively large. Two of these are the Creek Chub ([Fig. 80]), and the Shiner ([Fig. 80]). The chub is the king of the small brooks, being often the largest and most voracious fish found in such streams. His common diet probably consists of insects and worms, but if very hungry he does not object to eating a smaller fish. During the spawning season, which is springtime, the male chub has sharp, horny tubercles or spines developed upon the snout. We are able to recognize the creek chub by means of a black spot at the front of the base of the dorsal fin.

The shiner or red-fin has much larger scales than the chub. The back is elevated in front of the dorsal fin, giving him the appearance of a hump-back. His sides are a steel-blue with silvery reflections. While the shiner is not the largest, it is almost everywhere one of the most abundant brook fishes. In spring the lower fins of the male become reddish. Like the chub, he has small horny tubercles developed on the snout.

Random Notes.

Did you ever see a fish yawn? Watch a shiner in your aquarium. Sometimes you may see him open his mouth widely as though he was very sleepy. Again you may find him resting on the bottom of the jar taking a nap. Fishes cannot close their eyes when they sleep for they have no eyelids.

A convenient way to collect fishes for the schoolroom aquarium is to use a dip net. The ordinary insect net will do, but it is better to replace the cheese-cloth bag by a double thickness of mosquito-bar, thus enabling one to move the net through the water more rapidly. By dipping in the deep pools, among grasses and under the banks with such a net one can soon obtain fishes enough to stock an aquarium ([Fig. 86]). The aquarium jar should never be placed in the sun. It is better to have only three or four fishes in an aquarium at one time. Some flat stones on the bottom of the jar will afford them convenient hiding places.

For further notes on aquaria, consult Leaflet No. XII.

LEAFLET XIV.

THE OPENING OF A COCOON.[18]
By MARY ROGERS MILLER.

Among the commonest treasures brought into the schools by children in the fall or winter are the cocoons of our giant silk-worms. If one has a place to put them where the air is not too warm or dry, no special care will be necessary to keep them through the winter. Out-door conditions must be imitated as nearly as possible. If early in the fall one is fortunate enough to meet one of these giants out for a walk, it is the simplest thing in the world to capture him and watch him spin his marvelous winter blanket. Two members of this family of giant insects are quite common in this state, the largest the Cecropia, called sometimes the Emperor, and the Promethea.

Fig. 87. Cocoon of the Cecropia moth. It sometimes hangs from a twig of a fruit tree.

Fig. 88. End of cocoon of Cecropia, inside view, showing where the moth gets out.

The Cecropia moth often measures five or six inches across—a veritable giant. Its main color is dusty brown, with spots and bands of cinnamon brown and white. On each wing is a white crescent bordered with red and outlined with a black line. The body is heavy and covered with thick, reddish-brown hairs, crossed near the end with black and white lines. On its small head are two large feathery feelers or antennæ. The Cecropia moth emerges from the cocoon, full grown, in early summer, when out of doors. Those kept in the house often come out as early as March. The eggs are deposited by the adults upon apple, pear, cherry, maple and other shade and fruit trees. Professor Comstock says that the spiny caterpillars which hatch from the eggs in about two weeks, are known to feed upon the leaves of some fifty species of plants. One could therefore hardly make a mistake in offering refreshment to these creatures, since they are anything but epicures. The full-grown caterpillar, having spent the summer eating and growing, with now and then a change of clothes, is often three inches long and an inch in diameter. It is a dull bluish green in color. On its back are two rows of wart-like protuberances (tubercles), some yellow, some red, some blue. As there is nothing else in nature which is just like it, one need have no difficulty in recognizing the Cecropia in its different phases.

Fig. 89. Cocoon of Promethea moth fastened to a twig with silk.

The cocoon which this giant silk-worm weaves is shown in Fig. 87. It may be found on a twig of some tree in the dooryard, but sometimes on a fence-post or equally unexpected place. Inside the cocoon the brown pupa, alive but helpless, waits for spring.

Fig. 90. Cocoon of Promethea, cut open lengthwise to show the valve-like device at upper end through which the adult moth pushes its way out.

After the moth comes out it is interesting to examine the structure of the cocoon, and to discover how the moth managed to free itself without destroying the silken blanket ([Fig. 88]).

Swinging loosely from last summer's twigs in lilac bushes, and on such trees as wild cherry and ash, one often finds the slender cocoons of the Promethea moth ([Fig. 89]). We cannot help admiring the skill and care displayed by the spinner of this tidy winter overcoat. The giant silk-worm which spun it chose a leaf as a foundation. He took care to secure himself against the danger of falling by fastening the leaf to the twig which bore it by means of shining strands of silk. It is easy to test the strength of this fastening by attempting to pull it loose from the twig.

The moths which come from these cocoons do not always look alike, yet they are all brothers and sisters. The brothers are almost black, while the wings of the sisters are light reddish brown, with a light gray wavy line crossing the middle of both wings. The margins of the wings are clay-colored. On each wing is a dark velvety spot. The adults emerge in spring and are most often seen in the late afternoon. Their flight is more spirited than that of the Cecropia, which moves very sedately, as becomes a giant.

The caterpillars of this species, the young Prometheas, feed during the summer on leaves of wild cherry, ash and other trees. They grow to be about two inches long, and are distinguished from others by their pale bluish green color and yellow legs. They also have rows of wart-like elevations on their backs, some black and shining, four of a bright red and one large and yellow near the hindmost end.

The life of these giant insects is divided into four distinct stages: the egg, deposited by the adult moth usually on or near the food plant; the larva, or caterpillar stage, when most of the eating and all the growing is done; the pupa, passed inside the cocoon woven by the larva; and the adult, a winged moth.

The life-cycle or generation is one year, the winter being passed in the pupa stage. The insect lives but a short time in the adult stage and the egg stage is but two or three weeks. Most of the summer is devoted to the caterpillar phase of its life.

These creatures are entirely harmless. They seldom appear in numbers sufficient to make them of economic importance.