plants are woody climbers, natives of the Indian Archipelago, and not rarely cultivated in hothouses as a curiosity. Some of their leaves lengthen the tip into the tendril only; some of the lower bear a pitcher only; but the best-developed leaves have both, the tendril for climbing, the pitcher one can hardly say for what purpose. The pitcher is tightly closed by a neatly fitting lid when young; and in strong and healthy plants there is commonly a little water in it, which could not possibly have been introduced from without. After they are fully grown, the lid opens by a hinge; then a little water might be supposed to rain in. In the humid, sultry climates they inhabit, it probably does so freely; and the leaves are found partly filled with dead flies, as in our wild Pitcher-plants.

All species of Sundew (Drosera) have their leaves, and some their stalks also, beset with bristles tipped with a gland from which oozes a drop of clear but very glutinous liquid, making the plant appear as if studded with dew-drops. These remain, glistening in the sun, long after dew-drops would have been dissipated. Small flies, gnats, and such-like insects, seemingly enticed by the glittering drops, stick fast upon them, and perish by starvation, one would suppose without any benefit whatever to the plant. But in the broad-leaved wild species of our bogs, such as the common Round-leaved Sundew, the upper face and edges of the blade of the leaf bear stronger bristles, tipped with a larger glutinous drop, and the whole forms what we must allow to be a veritable fly-trap; for, when a small fly alights on the upper face, and is held by some of the glutinous drops long enough for the leaf to act, the surrounding bristles slowly bend inwards so as to bring their glutinous tips also against the body of the insect, adding, one by one, to the bonds, and rendering captivity and death certain. This movement of the bristles must be of the same nature as that by which tendrils and some leafstalks bend or coil. It is much too slow to be visible except in the result, which takes a few hours, or even a day or two to be completed. Here, then, is a contrivance for catching flies, a most elaborate one, in action slow but sure. And the different species of Sun

dew offer all gradations between those with merely scattered and motionless dewy-tipped bristles, to which flies may chance to stick, and this more complex arrangement, which we can not avoid regarding as intended for fly-catching. Moreover, in both of our commoner species, the blade of the leaf itself incurves, so as to fold round its victim!

And a most practiced observer, whose observations are not yet published, declares that the leaves of the common Round-leaved Sundew act differently when different objects are placed upon them. For instance, if a particle of raw meat be substituted for the living fly, the bristles will close upon it in the same manner; but to a particle of chalk or wood they remain nearly indifferent. If any doubt should still remain whether the fly-catching in Sundews is accidental or intentional, in other words, whether the leaf is so constructed and arranged in order that it may capture flies, the doubt may perhaps disappear upon the contemplation of another and even more extraordinary plant of the same family of the Sundew, namely, Venus's Flytrap, or Dionæa muscipula. This plant abounds in the low savannas around Wilmington, North Carolina, and is native nowhere else. It is not very difficult to cultivate, at least for a time, and it is kept in many choice conservatories as a vegetable wonder.

The trap is the end of the leaf. It is somewhat like the leaf of Sundew, only larger, about an inch in diameter, with bristles still stouter, but only round the margin, like a fringe, and no clammy liquid or gland at their tips. The leaf folds on itself as if hinged at the midrib. Three more delicate bristles are seen on the face upon close inspection. When these are touched by the finger or the point of a pencil, the open trap shuts with a quick motion, and after a considerable interval it reopens. When a fly or other insect alights on the surface and brushes against these sensitive bristles, the trap closes promptly, generally imprisoning the intruder. It closes at first with the sides convex and the bristles crossing each other like the fingers of interlocked hands or the teeth of a steel trap. But soon the sides of the trap flatten down and press firmly upon the victim; and it now

requires a very considerable force to open the trap. If nothing is caught, the trap presently reopens of itself and is ready for another attempt. When a fly or any similar insect is captured it is retained until it perishes, — is killed, indeed, and consumed; after which it opens for another capture. But after the first or second it acts sluggishly and feebly, it ages and hardens, at length loses its sensibility, and slowly decays.

It can not be supposed that plants, like boys, catch flies for pastime or in objectless wantonness. Living beings though they are, yet they are not of a sufficiently high order for that. It is equally incredible that such an exquisite apparatus as this should be purposeless. And in the present case the evidence of the purpose and of the meaning of the strange action is well-nigh complete. The face of this living trap is thickly sprinkled with glands immersed in its texture, of elaborate structure under the microscope, but large enough to be clearly discerned with a handlens; these glands, soon after an insect is closed upon, give out a saliva-like liquid, which moistens the insect, and in a short time (within a week) dissolves all its soft parts, digests them, we must believe; and the liquid, with the animal matter it has dissolved, is re-absorbed into the leaf! We are forced to conclude that, in addition to the ordinary faculties and functions of a vegetable, this plant is really carnivorous.

That, while all plants are food for animals, some few should, in turn and to some extent, feed upon them, will appear more credible when it is considered that whole tribes of plants of the lowest grade (Mould-Fungi and the like) habitually feed upon living plants and living animals, or upon their juices when dead. An account of them would make a volume of itself, and an interesting one. But all goes to show that the instances of extraordinary behavior which have been recounted in these chapters are not mere prodigies, wholly out of the general order of Nature, but belong to the order of Nature, and indeed are hardly different in kind from, or really more wonderful than, the doings of many of the commonest plants, which, until our special attention is called to them, ordinarily pass unregarded.

DANA

1813-1895

PROFESSOR JAMES DWIGHT DANA, the eminent geologist and naturalist, was born at Utica, New York, in 1813. At the age of twenty he graduated at Yale College. Devoting himself assiduously to scientific studies, he soon acquired a reputation which justified his appointment to be the geologist and

mineralogist of Commodore Wilkes's Exploring Expedition, sent out by the United States government in 1838. During his four years' absence in this capacity he gathered materials for his notable contributions to the literature of science. Among these are his "Report on Zoöphytes," "Report on the Geology of the Pacific," and "Report on Crustacea." Before his departure with this expedition he published his "System of Mineralogy," the fourth edition of which was issued in 1854, and the descriptive part of the fifth in 1868. In 1850 he was called to the chair of Natural History and Geology at Yale

University, but did not enter upon its duties until five years later. For many years he was a principal editor of the "American Journal of Science." Professor Dana's "Manual of Geology" is a standard text-book, and his latest work was a complete revision of this book, published but a few months before his death, in April, 1895. He was recognized in the scientific circles of Europe as one of the foremost naturalists; was a member of many European scientific societies, and of the French Academy. Professor Dana was a close observer of Nature, and his special qualifications for scientific investigation were supplemented by intellectual powers which admirably fitted him for the office of leader and instructor in his chosen department of science.

KNOWLEDGE OF NATURE

I.

WHEN man, at the word of his Maker, stood up to receive his birthright, God pronounced a benediction, and gave him this commission: "Replenish the earth: subdue it: and have dominion over every living thing."

"Subdue and have dominion." These were the first recorded words that fell on the human ear; and Heaven's blessing was in them.

Far from it.

But what is this subduing of the earth? How is Nature brought under subjection? Man's highest glory consists in obedience to the Eternal Will; and in this case, is he actually taking the reins into his own hands? Far from it. He is but yielding submission. He is learning that will, and placing himself, as Bacon has said, in direct subserviency to divine laws. When he sets his sails, and drives over the waves before the blast, feeling the pride of power in that the gale has been broken into a willing steed, he still looks up reverently, and acknowledges that God in nature has been his teacher, and is his strength. When he strikes the rock, and out flows the brilliant metal, he admits that it is in obedience to a higher will than his own, and a reward of careful searching for truth, in complete subjection to that will. When he yokes together a plate of copper and zinc, and urges them to action by a cup of acid, and then dispatches