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 poUenated 

 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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