THE SUNDEW 229 
away, but their struggles make matters worse, for 
they stimulate the secretion of more fluid. The 
glands—perhaps they might be called “ tentacles ”’ 
—close in upon the victim, the edges of the leaves 
turning up and forming a cup, a motion which brings 
the tentacles together in such a way as to make the 
insect’s escape practically impossible. When the 
victim is trapped, a digestive fluid is secreted, which, 
as in the case of the Butterwort, dissolves all the 
substances of the insect that are “good to eat.” 
The solution is absorbed by the leaf, and the plant is 
thus nourished. 
You can get specimens of the Sundew and feed 
them at home, just as you would feed lizards, birds, 
or any other pets. Of course, you must plant them 
in boxes or pots, allowing them plenty of bog-moss, 
and keeping them well watered. Feed them with 
small flies or even tiny pieces of meat. But be 
careful not to overfeed them; they require very 
little of such strong food, and they may easily die 
of indigestion. 
I think you will agree with me that the Sundew 
is a wonderful little plant. Just think of its strange 
device for securing food ; of the clever trap it sets 
for its intended victims, and the almost cruel 
manner in which it closes in upon them. To the 
trapped victim it must be as a cruel, pitiless giant 
from whose awful clutches escape is impossible. 
Imagine little children wandering in a forest, hungry 
and thirsty, finding a huge red leaf, ever so many 
times bigger than themselves, apparently studded 
with sparkling globes of water. Thinking that here, 
indeed, is a crystal, fairy fountain, they attempt to 
