﻿360 
  

  

  AMERICAN 
  HOMES 
  AND 
  GARDENS 
  

  

  September, 
  1907 
  

  

  brownish-yellow 
  drop 
  is 
  secreted 
  — 
  a 
  drop 
  of 
  manure. 
  The 
  

   flock 
  of 
  fungus, 
  pressed 
  into 
  the 
  garden 
  again 
  with 
  the 
  feet, 
  

   absorbs 
  the 
  appended 
  drop. 
  With 
  her 
  own 
  excretions, 
  then, 
  

   the 
  ant 
  manures 
  the 
  young 
  culture. 
  At 
  the 
  same 
  time, 
  how- 
  

   ever, 
  this 
  mother-ant 
  lays 
  daily 
  about 
  fifty 
  eggs. 
  How 
  can 
  

   she, 
  without 
  taking 
  nourishment, 
  thus 
  constantly 
  produce 
  

   manure-drops 
  and 
  eggs? 
  How 
  is 
  the 
  conservation 
  of 
  sub- 
  

   stance 
  and 
  of 
  energy 
  here 
  fulfilled? 
  Of 
  the 
  fungus 
  the 
  little 
  

   animal 
  does 
  not 
  eat, 
  even 
  when 
  it 
  already 
  ripens 
  globules. 
  

   The 
  riddle's 
  solution 
  lies 
  in 
  the 
  fact 
  that 
  the 
  mother-ant 
  

   consumes 
  a 
  part 
  of 
  her 
  own 
  eggs, 
  and 
  later, 
  when 
  little 
  

   female 
  workers 
  begin 
  to 
  hatch 
  out, 
  perhaps 
  receives 
  from 
  

   these 
  nourishing 
  juice 
  offered 
  in 
  the 
  open 
  mouth. 
  Of 
  some 
  

   two 
  thousand 
  eggs 
  that 
  the 
  creature 
  lays 
  within 
  forty 
  days 
  

   merely 
  the 
  tenth 
  part 
  produce; 
  a 
  great, 
  or 
  rather 
  by 
  far 
  

   the 
  greater, 
  part 
  is 
  fed 
  to 
  the 
  larva?. 
  At 
  first, 
  the 
  mother 
  

   herself 
  stuffs 
  the 
  egg 
  into 
  the 
  jaws 
  of 
  the 
  larva? 
  ; 
  later 
  the 
  

   female 
  workers 
  attend 
  to 
  it. 
  When 
  the 
  larvae 
  are 
  still 
  small 
  

   then 
  an 
  egg 
  suffices 
  for 
  the 
  feeding 
  of 
  several; 
  the 
  indusium, 
  

   emptied 
  of 
  its 
  contents, 
  is 
  consumed 
  by 
  the 
  mother. 
  One 
  of 
  

   our 
  pictures 
  illustrates 
  how 
  the 
  larvae 
  suck 
  up 
  their 
  as 
  yet 
  

   egg-shaped 
  little 
  sisters. 
  

  

  At 
  the 
  earliest 
  after 
  fourteen 
  days 
  (reckoning 
  from 
  the 
  

   beginning 
  of 
  the 
  breeding-time) 
  the 
  first 
  female 
  workers 
  

   appear, 
  little 
  creatures 
  a 
  twelfth 
  of 
  an 
  inch 
  long, 
  soon 
  fol- 
  

   lowed 
  by 
  others 
  twice 
  as 
  large. 
  The 
  little 
  female 
  workers 
  

   feed 
  on 
  the 
  globules 
  of 
  the 
  fungus-garden, 
  and 
  are 
  zealously 
  

   intent 
  upon 
  taking 
  good 
  care 
  of 
  their 
  territory 
  and 
  suffering 
  

   the 
  loss 
  of 
  no 
  fertilizing 
  drop 
  of 
  excrement. 
  The 
  mother-ant 
  

   also 
  still 
  manures 
  the 
  fungus-garden 
  in 
  the 
  customary 
  way, 
  

   but 
  confines 
  herself 
  more 
  and 
  more 
  to 
  egg-laying, 
  as 
  soon 
  as 
  

   through 
  an 
  exit 
  dug 
  by 
  themselves 
  the 
  female 
  workers 
  have 
  

  

  once 
  reached 
  the 
  outside 
  world 
  and 
  have 
  there 
  begun 
  the 
  

   leaf-cutting. 
  Now 
  vegetable 
  fertilizing 
  material 
  is 
  dragged 
  

   in, 
  chambers 
  are 
  built, 
  the 
  fungus-garden 
  expands. 
  The 
  

   mother-ant, 
  who 
  at 
  first 
  had 
  her 
  hands 
  full, 
  taking 
  care 
  

   of 
  the 
  brood 
  and 
  of 
  the 
  garden, 
  is 
  now 
  relieved 
  by 
  the 
  

   numerous 
  results 
  of 
  her 
  labors. 
  She 
  is 
  served, 
  and 
  fed 
  

   abundantly; 
  the 
  eggs 
  are 
  taken 
  away 
  from 
  her 
  at 
  once 
  on 
  

   appearance, 
  and 
  buried 
  in 
  the 
  cavities 
  of 
  the 
  fungus-garden. 
  

   The 
  larvae 
  are 
  fed 
  by 
  the 
  female 
  workers 
  with 
  eggs 
  or 
  

   globules. 
  A 
  bustling 
  activity 
  reigns 
  in 
  the 
  covered 
  structure, 
  

   now 
  consisting 
  of 
  several 
  chambers. 
  

  

  Though 
  the 
  planting 
  of 
  a 
  colony 
  may 
  succeed 
  in 
  the 
  way 
  

   just 
  described, 
  yet 
  it 
  is 
  still 
  possible 
  that 
  the 
  mother-ant 
  is 
  

   received 
  into 
  another 
  nest, 
  and 
  in 
  consequence 
  is 
  not 
  obliged 
  

   to 
  stay 
  many 
  days 
  alone, 
  nourishing 
  herself 
  from 
  herself, 
  

   in 
  a 
  subterranean 
  chamber. 
  But 
  when 
  one 
  considers 
  with 
  

   what 
  skill 
  and 
  prudence 
  these 
  leaf-cutter 
  ants 
  plant 
  and 
  culti- 
  

   vate 
  their 
  fungus-gardens; 
  how 
  they 
  tear 
  off 
  and 
  expose 
  

   upon 
  the 
  chopped, 
  kneaded 
  leaf 
  material 
  fungus 
  mycelium; 
  

   how 
  they 
  build 
  ways, 
  streets, 
  tunnels, 
  vaults, 
  bridges, 
  walls 
  

   and 
  ceilings, 
  and 
  keep 
  road-improvement 
  columns 
  — 
  then, 
  in- 
  

   deed, 
  one 
  must 
  acknowledge 
  the 
  possibility 
  that 
  a 
  conscious- 
  

   ness, 
  too, 
  of 
  this 
  their 
  action 
  is 
  present 
  in 
  the 
  little 
  creatures. 
  

   If 
  this 
  is 
  so 
  the 
  more 
  reprehensible 
  will 
  then 
  be 
  found 
  

   the 
  experiments 
  of 
  an 
  English-writing 
  lady, 
  who 
  tried 
  to 
  

   show 
  by 
  means 
  of 
  drowning, 
  suffocating, 
  starving 
  and 
  letting 
  

   thirst, 
  as 
  well 
  as 
  poisoning 
  of 
  ants, 
  how 
  tenacious 
  of 
  life 
  the 
  

   little 
  animals 
  are. 
  The 
  result 
  of 
  her 
  heartless 
  tortures 
  was 
  

   ludicrously 
  small. 
  Our 
  ants 
  hibernate; 
  and 
  the 
  little 
  Atta 
  

   female 
  described 
  above 
  lives 
  many 
  weeks 
  working, 
  laying 
  

   eggs 
  and 
  manuring, 
  without 
  taking 
  other 
  nourishment 
  than 
  

   her 
  own 
  eggs. 
  Truly 
  the 
  ants 
  must 
  be 
  hardy 
  creatures. 
  

  

  The 
  Wild 
  Garden 
  — 
  A 
  Plea 
  for 
  Our 
  Native 
  Plants 
  

  

  (Concluded 
  from 
  Page 
  j#j) 
  

  

  Not 
  knowing 
  just 
  what 
  plants 
  we 
  will 
  have, 
  as 
  the 
  collec- 
  

   tion 
  grows, 
  of 
  course 
  we 
  can 
  have 
  no 
  definite 
  plan, 
  at 
  the 
  

   beginning, 
  to 
  work 
  to. 
  Consequently 
  there 
  will 
  be 
  a 
  certain 
  

   unavoidable 
  lack 
  of 
  system 
  in 
  the 
  arrangement 
  of 
  the 
  wild 
  

   garden. 
  But 
  this 
  may 
  possibly 
  become 
  one 
  of 
  its 
  chief 
  

   charms, 
  after 
  a 
  little. 
  A 
  garden 
  made 
  on 
  this 
  plan 
  — 
  which 
  

   is 
  really 
  without 
  any 
  plan 
  — 
  seems 
  to 
  have 
  evolved 
  itself, 
  and 
  

   the 
  utter 
  absence 
  of 
  all 
  formality 
  will 
  make 
  it 
  a 
  more 
  cunning 
  

   imitation 
  of 
  Nature's 
  garden. 
  In 
  arranging 
  the 
  shrubs 
  and 
  

   plants 
  put 
  the 
  larger 
  ones 
  in 
  the 
  background, 
  as 
  far 
  as 
  pos- 
  

   sible, 
  and 
  keep 
  them 
  there. 
  By 
  arranging 
  the 
  plants 
  in 
  such 
  a 
  

   manner 
  that 
  they 
  are 
  graduated 
  in 
  height 
  as 
  they 
  come 
  

   toward 
  the 
  foreground, 
  you 
  secure 
  an 
  effect 
  of 
  breadth 
  which 
  

   adds 
  vastly 
  to 
  the 
  attraction 
  of 
  the 
  garden. 
  It 
  gives 
  you 
  a 
  

   sense 
  of 
  distance 
  which 
  large 
  plants 
  near 
  the 
  path, 
  and 
  in 
  

   the 
  immediate 
  foreground, 
  effectually 
  destroys. 
  

  

  Never 
  set 
  your 
  plants 
  in 
  rows. 
  Nature 
  never 
  does 
  that, 
  

   and 
  she 
  is 
  the 
  only 
  gardener 
  who 
  never 
  makes 
  a 
  mistake. 
  

   Go 
  into 
  the 
  fields 
  and 
  forests 
  and 
  note 
  how 
  shrubs 
  and 
  plants 
  

   are 
  arranged 
  there. 
  Here 
  a 
  group, 
  there 
  a 
  group 
  — 
  a 
  result 
  

   that 
  seems 
  to 
  have 
  no 
  plan 
  back 
  of 
  it, 
  and 
  yet, 
  who 
  can 
  say 
  

   that 
  Nature 
  did 
  not 
  plan 
  out 
  carefully 
  every 
  one 
  of 
  these 
  

   clumps 
  and 
  combinations? 
  Try 
  to 
  make 
  your 
  wild 
  garden 
  

   look 
  as 
  much 
  like 
  a 
  real 
  wild 
  garden 
  as 
  possible, 
  and 
  the 
  

   closer 
  you 
  study 
  Nature's 
  methods 
  and 
  pattern 
  after 
  them 
  

   the 
  nearer 
  you 
  will 
  come 
  to 
  success. 
  Avoid 
  formality 
  as 
  you 
  

   would 
  the 
  plague 
  if 
  you 
  want 
  your 
  wild 
  garden 
  to 
  afford 
  all 
  

   the 
  pleasure 
  which 
  can 
  be 
  got 
  out 
  of 
  it. 
  Nature's 
  arrange- 
  

   ments 
  are 
  always 
  restful 
  in 
  effect, 
  and 
  never 
  give 
  one 
  a 
  sense 
  

   of 
  premeditation. 
  Like 
  the 
  Topsy 
  of 
  "Uncle 
  Tom's 
  Cabin," 
  

   they 
  "just 
  grow." 
  But 
  in 
  order 
  to 
  successfully 
  imitate 
  Nature 
  

   it 
  is 
  absolutely 
  necessary 
  that 
  we 
  should 
  familiarize 
  ourselves 
  

  

  with 
  her 
  way 
  of 
  doing 
  things, 
  and 
  we 
  can 
  only 
  do 
  this 
  by 
  

   studying 
  from 
  her 
  books 
  as 
  she 
  opens 
  them 
  before 
  us 
  in 
  every 
  

   field, 
  and 
  by 
  the 
  roadside, 
  and 
  the 
  woodland 
  nook. 
  The 
  

   secret 
  of 
  success, 
  in 
  a 
  word, 
  lies 
  in 
  getting 
  close 
  to 
  Nature's 
  

   heart. 
  

  

  Among 
  our 
  early 
  flowering 
  plants 
  will 
  be 
  found 
  the 
  dog- 
  

   woods, 
  the 
  plums, 
  the 
  crabapple, 
  the 
  wild 
  rose, 
  and 
  smaller 
  

   plants 
  like 
  the 
  trillium, 
  the 
  houstonia, 
  the 
  bloodroot, 
  the 
  

   claytonia, 
  and 
  the 
  hepatica. 
  Among 
  summer 
  bloomers 
  we 
  

   have 
  aquilegia, 
  daisy, 
  coreopsis, 
  cranesbill, 
  eupatorium, 
  

   meadow 
  sweet, 
  lily, 
  helianthus, 
  enothera, 
  rudbeckia, 
  vervain, 
  

   vernonia, 
  and 
  many 
  others 
  that 
  grow 
  here 
  and 
  there, 
  but 
  are 
  

   not 
  found 
  in 
  all 
  parts 
  of 
  the 
  country, 
  as 
  those 
  named 
  above 
  

   are. 
  Among 
  the 
  shrubs 
  are 
  elder, 
  spirea, 
  clethra, 
  and 
  others 
  

   equally 
  as 
  desirable. 
  Among 
  the 
  late 
  bloomers 
  are 
  solidagos, 
  

   asters, 
  helenium, 
  ironweed, 
  and 
  others 
  which 
  continue 
  to 
  

   flower 
  until 
  the 
  coming 
  of 
  cold 
  weather. 
  The 
  sumach, 
  which 
  

   is 
  too 
  large 
  for 
  a 
  shrub 
  and 
  too 
  small 
  for 
  a 
  tree, 
  deserves 
  a 
  

   place 
  in 
  every 
  collection, 
  because 
  of 
  the 
  magnificent 
  color 
  of 
  

   its 
  foliage 
  in 
  autumn. 
  Among 
  the 
  desirable 
  vines 
  are 
  the 
  

   ampelopsis, 
  which 
  vies 
  with 
  the 
  sumach 
  in 
  rich 
  color, 
  in 
  fall; 
  

   the 
  bittersweet, 
  with 
  its 
  profusion 
  of 
  fruitage 
  as 
  brilliant 
  as 
  

   flowers; 
  and 
  the 
  clematis, 
  beautiful 
  in 
  bloom, 
  and 
  quite 
  as 
  at- 
  

   tractive 
  later, 
  when 
  its 
  seeds 
  take 
  on 
  their 
  peculiar 
  plumes. 
  

  

  Though 
  I 
  have 
  named 
  only 
  the 
  leading 
  varieties 
  of 
  our 
  

   best-known 
  plants, 
  the 
  list, 
  it 
  will 
  be 
  observed, 
  is 
  quite 
  a 
  long 
  

   one, 
  and 
  no 
  one 
  need 
  fear 
  of 
  not 
  being 
  able 
  to 
  obtain 
  plants 
  

   enough 
  to 
  stock 
  a 
  good-sized 
  garden. 
  The 
  trouble 
  will 
  be, 
  

   in 
  most 
  cases, 
  to 
  find 
  room 
  for 
  all 
  the 
  plants 
  which 
  you 
  would 
  

   like 
  to 
  have 
  represented 
  in 
  your 
  collection, 
  after 
  you 
  become 
  

   thoroughly 
  interested 
  in 
  the 
  delightful 
  work 
  of 
  making 
  it. 
  It 
  

   is 
  a 
  work 
  that 
  will 
  grow 
  in 
  attraction 
  as 
  you 
  go 
  on 
  with 
  it. 
  

  

  