LUTHER BURBANK 
of wonder contemplating such flowers as the 
honeysuckle, the nasturtium and many of the 
lilies—which have taken special precaution to 
place their nectar in long, horn-like tubes, out of 
the reach of insects, so that only the birds may 
become their messengers of reproduction. 
We should see the pathos of those flowers 
which advertise for insects that rarely come. The 
barberry, for example, which can be pollenated 
only during the bright hours of a cloudless day, 
and during a time so short that there is little 
chance of pollen being brought by insects from 
other blossoms. Each barberry blossom, ready 
for the insect if it should come, but as if expecting 
disappointment, makes sure of self perpetuation, 
if not of self improvement, by jabbing its pollen 
laden anthers on its own stigma with a motion as 
positive and as accurate as the jump of a cat. 
Or the fennel flower of France, in which the 
several pistils bend over and take pollen from the 
stamens around them and straighten up again. 
Or the flowers of the nettle, in which the 
stamens increase their height with a sudden 
spring-like action, showering the pollen up over 
the receptive stigma. 
We should observe that wheat and some of the 
other grains, as though discouraged by centuries 
and centuries of failure to secure variation, had 
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