Chapter 9 MAKING COLLECTIONS

PLANTS

Collecting plants has always been an important feature of practical scientific work. Great sums of money and many years of time have been spent in searching through little-explored countries for new plants. Agents of many governments, representatives of great nursery companies of this and other countries are all the time looking, looking, often at the cost of the greatest hardship, for new plants. Why is this? Not as you will readily conclude, merely to add new specimens to museum collections, nor merely to find and name a new species, though some collectors are in the field for these purely scientific reasons. But our Department of Agriculture is on the lookout for new plants from foreign parts which will be commercially valuable to us. Our enterprising nurserymen are after the same game. At the present time very great interest is being taken in plants from western China, a vast and little-explored region. Strangely enough, the plants from that far away country seem to be peculiarly fitted to thrive here, and while the government and the nurserymen are telling the people about these new plants, the botanists are trying to discover the reasons why Asiatic plants fit our conditions better than the plants of Europe seem to.

The making of collections of plants, then, is a big, important work, and well worth the while of any boy or girl. If you would read stories of exciting adventures, narrow escapes, thrilling encounters amid romantic surroundings, read some of the accounts of scientific explorations. The collectors of plants and insects in the Philippines, Central Asia, little-known islands of the far East, and such "wild nations," must needs be men of valour, and to know any one of them is a liberal education.

Making a collection of plants is probably not the best way to arouse an interest in outdoor life. Indeed it was made such a deadly dull business for me that my early interest was entirely "nipped in the bud" and lay dormant many, many years. Collecting is one of the recognized and useful ways of introducing ourselves to our neighbours of the vegetable kingdom. Living in a plant-infested world as we are elected to do, eating plants, wearing their products, utilizing them in all our arts, buying and selling them daily, unable to get through an hour of the day without being constantly reminded of our entire dependence upon the members of the vegetable kingdom, what is more natural than that we should wish to know them? To know their names is not the end and aim of plant study. The name is a convenient handle for a plant. It enables you to talk about the plant to others without the necessity of a lengthy description. It enables you to read understandingly what other students have said about the plant in books. It is only the beginning, like the introduction to a stranger. To make of a stranger a friend, you must know something of his family, of his relation to the rest of the world, how he lives, gets a living, how he makes use of his faculties, what are his peculiarities, his habits, his environment, in fact all about him. In discovering the name of a plant by use of a botanical key you learn a few but not all of these things.

As with some people so with some plants, the more you know of them the less you think of them; the less you wish to have to do with them. Take poison ivy for an example. Knowing its characteristics you pass it by without touching it. You observe it from afar off, so as to be able to warn others of its whereabouts. On the other hand, if you had only known well the giant puff-ball you so wantonly crushed under your heel, you might have enjoyed a delicious supper of creamed mushrooms.

Making a collection of plants is an extremely simple job. The materials needed are not expensive nor hard to get. Here is a list of what is required for a beginner's collection:

(1) A dozen or so newspapers.

(2) Driers, two or three dozen, 12 × 18 inches.

(3) Two boards, 12 × 18 inches.

(4) A stone of twenty to thirty pounds weight.

(5) Mounting paper.

(6) Genus covers.

Cut the newspapers into half sheets. Each specimen is to be placed in a folded piece of this. The driers may be cheap blotting paper or pieces of carpet felt, cut to the desired size.

Arrange a specimen just as it was taken from the ground, inside of one of the half pages of newspaper. While it is not desirable to put too much time on the arrangement of each specimen, it is as well to place it in a natural position and in such a way that the leaves will not lie all over each other and the flowers be crowded so that the appearance will be awkward. But do not overdo this: if a flower droops naturally, do not make it stick upright. With one of the boards as a foundation build your pile of pressing plants up as follows: Lay on two or more driers, then a folded newspaper holding a specimen, then a drier or two. (If the specimen is a juicy thing, several blotters are needed between it and the next one.) Now another specimen, a drier, a specimen, etc., until you are through with the day's collecting, or until the pile begins to topple. Finish with a drier, then put on the other board, and weight it with your big stone.

The driers must be changed every day. Do not disturb the specimens, but lift each folded newspaper from the old to the new pile, building up with fresh driers as before. In a week or ten days most plants will be thoroughly dry. If at all moist they are likely to mould after being mounted and your work will be spoiled. A dried specimen is brittle and needs careful handling.

Mounting paper, to be standard and uniform, should be white, plain paper of a very heavy quality. It costs a cent a sheet, size eleven and one half by sixteen and one fourth inches. No other size would be acceptable if you wish at some later time to donate your collection to the local museum or to sell it to some school.

There are several ways of fastening specimens to the sheet. Some like to use little strips of gummed paper or court-plaster, but old-fashioned glue is about the most satisfactory stuff. It is mussy to work with till you get your hand in, but it holds the plants fast to the sheet, and "that's the intintion." It is best to keep the specimens in the newspaper wrappers until you have a lot ready to mount. Then with a pot of glue, a dry cloth, a damp one, and a small brush you are ready for business. Lift the specimen from the newspaper and lay it first on the mounting sheet to get some idea beforehand of how you will place it. You may have to prune it some to get it all on, but this is not likely as your drying sheets are the same size as your mounting paper. Having decided at what angle to place it, lay the specimen back on the newspaper upside down. With your brush wet, but not dripping, with glue, brush the stems, buds, leaves, and flowers lightly over the back. Lift it again, turning it over as you transfer it to the white sheet. With a light pressure make the parts fast and lay the sheet aside for the glue to dry.

Small specimens should occupy a place just a little below the centre of the sheet, and if more than one specimen is required to show all parts they may be arranged on the sheet as their various shapes and sizes look best.

Plants should be mounted on paper 16? × 11? inches

A few facts should accompany each plant to refresh your memory of that specimen when you come to study it later. These facts should have been recorded by you in whatever way you like and referred to the specimen by a number while in the press. Finally each mounted specimen should have its label, bearing the name of the plant, the collector's name, the date collected, locality, and any useful information regarding it. Glue the label into the lower right-hand corner, which should always be reserved for that purpose.

These loose sheets, covered with mounted specimens, must not be allowed to lie in a shelf or drawer unprotected. Each group of them should be put into a folded sheet of manilla paper. Such a holder is called a "genus cover." Its size, folded, is eleven and three fourths by sixteen and one half inches.

This word "genus" suggests that in time the collector is going to be able so to classify his specimens that each genus cover may contain only plants so closely related one to another that they are of the same botanical genus. The beginner need not be seriously disturbed if there are many plants in his collection that he does not know the names of yet. The collection is for study or it is worth nothing. Knowing plants is more important than knowing names. You cannot handle plants much and observe them in their places without noticing how different they are. Then you begin to see that some are more like than others. This is the beginning of classification. You need not know even the common names of the plants to do this, although you will know some, of course. Professor Bailey says: "Learn first to classify plants; names will follow. Look for resemblances, and group plants round some well-known kind. Look for sunflower-like plants, lily-like, rose-like, mint-like, mustard-like, pea-like, carrot-like plants. These great groups are families."

After you have handled your common plants a good deal you will be surprised to find how easily you can guess at one's family, and guess right.

When you have reached this stage in your collecting you will feel that you need some book to guide you and act as a check on your studies. All the books mentioned in the lists in this book are useful for beginners. If you find a book which pretends to take the place of the plants themselves, you would better throw your money away than buy it. Instead of helping it will hinder your progress. You will find in beginners' botanies what is known as a "key." Now, a key is obviously to unlock something with. If you had a door key which turned with difficulty, or fitted the lock imperfectly you would be sure to have it repaired or get a more modern one. Some of the old botanical keys seem to be rusty and it is difficult to use them. Choose the key that works most easily.

In making a key for classifying plants one begins by dividing the whole vegetable kingdom into two big departments, thus:

A. Plants which never have flowers.

AA. Plants which do have flowers.

As your specimens are all of the flowering kind we shall for the present forget all about the others and begin to divide our big group AA into smaller groups. This is how it is done:

AA. Flowering plants.

B. Flowers not showy, seeds in cones (usually), leaves needle-or scale-like, evergreen (usually).

BB. Flowers showy, seeds not in cones, leaves of various shapes, deciduous (usually).

You will see that in dividing a group it is important that A is just the opposite of AA, and B is just the opposite of BB, and that the place to look for BB is just the same distance over from the margin of the page as B although it may not be on the same page, if there are a great many divisions under B. These little things make the key easier to use than the old-fashioned ones were. Some people still use botanical keys as mental gymnastics but I do not believe in that. After all you are studying plants not keys.

You will want to go back to the group we called A, for to the non-flowering plants belong the lovely ferns which must certainly grace your collection. This is a delightful group to study and it is possible with a reasonable amount of persistence and by exchanging with fern collectors in other parts of the country to get a very nearly if not quite, complete collection of native forms. Only one hundred and sixty-five of the four thousand species of ferns are native to the United States. Such a collection should be very valuable.

Some boys and girls lose interest in collecting plants after the first season, especially if they have done well the first year and secured most of the species in their locality. If the opportunity to collect elsewhere does not come the next spring there can be nothing more interesting than to try to get the same things you already have, but in some other stage of their growth. For example: most collections will have several kinds of violets, blue, white and yellow, in all the beauty of their flowering. But whoever thought of getting one that showed the seed pods? What is a violet's seed pod like anyhow? Is the seed pod of the white one like that of the yellow? Are the seed pods of one plant all alike? When do the pods open and how? How do the seeds germinate and when? These and other questions are waiting to be answered by every plant in your collection. Would it not be fine to know the pure white trillium in midsummer when it has grown a leaf nearly a foot across and has a red fleshy seed case thrust up where it will be conspicuous? Some plants are far more showy in fruit than in flower and you will begin to see why these and other things are true as you carry on your studies throughout the year.

Many a teacher of botany is forced to depend upon pictures when she wishes to teach children to discriminate between two kinds of leaves, kinds of roots, kinds of stems, kinds of inflorescence. What a boon to those teachers would be a collection put up to illustrate the lessons as they came along! I wonder if there is not a market for such collections in schools where no herbariums are made or kept.

For little children, making blue prints is delightful occupation. I knew a child of four who learned to recognize the leaves of most of the common trees one spring by means of this work, and she did every bit of it alone. A small printing frame, blue print paper of the required size, and plenty of water is all that is required. A child soon learns to use good judgment in printing, exposing the frame just long enough to get a fine blue. The outline of the leaf comes out distinctly in white against a blue background. The prints should be thoroughly washed and may be dried on panes of glass.

The blue prints of leaves and of flowers do not show anything but the outlines, of course. Leaf prints of other kinds are made which bring out the veining as well. The outfit for this work is simple. Two print rollers, a pane of glass, and a tube of printers' ink, sheets of paper to print upon, and leaves. Put a small quantity of the ink on the clean glass, and work it into a thin film over the surface. Lay a leaf upon this film of ink and go over it with the inky roller. Transfer the leaf to a sheet of paper and cover with a second sheet. One whirl of the clean roller ought to give you the desired print. It is surprising how delicate and true these are and how perfectly they show the characteristic margin, indentations, venation, and even something of the texture of each leaf. A little practice makes one able to make impressions which are like leaf shadows, so delicate and lace-like can these prints be made. It is an excellent way of fixing the leaf forms in the memory, as well as in the note-book.

In making a collection of plants the same "rules of the game" should hold good as in collecting insects and other natural objects. Take only what you need. Do not uproot and leave to die the near neighbours of the specimens you select. The taking of rare specimens is discouraged. I shall never forget the look of indignation our dear old professor gave an ambitious youth who had uprooted for his paltry collection every plant of a species of rare fern which the professor had been trying for years to re-establish in its old location. After all is said and done, a live plant is better than a dead one. This is all a part of the great spirit of conservation that has so taken possession of our people of late years. Out of these little acts of preserving our resources will grow a more beautiful America and a better appreciation of all things beautiful.

COLLECTING SEA-WEEDS

Every child ought to be familiar with that musical poem of Percival's beginning:

"Deep in the sea is a coral grove,

Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove."

And then when the child grows bigger he should have an opportunity to go out in a glass-bottomed boat, at Santa Catalina Island or elsewhere, and see for himself that those "yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean," "bending like corn on the upland lea," are not pictures from a poet's dream, but beautiful realities.

Sea-weeds are exquisite things and few people can resist the temptation to collect them when spending a vacation at the beach. When going on a collecting trip for these it is well to take a net and two pails, one small enough to hold the smaller things and carried inside the larger. A heavy knife may be useful, too. The best time is after the spring-tides, because at the lowest ebb of the water one may find forms of great beauty and brighter colours than elsewhere. The rocks, the rubbish left by the tide, the pools, the piles, the sea-wall, the surface of the waves themselves, are all good places to look for sea-weeds. They are fewer on sandy beaches than elsewhere. They vary in size from great, coarse, leathery rock-weeds to those so delicate as hardly to be seen at all.

Sea-weeds are real plants, belonging to that great group of non-flowering plants mentioned before. They are called alg?. They do not have true stems and leaves, neither do they feed by means of roots. Many of them are so shaped that they appear to have stems, roots, and leaves, but as these parts do not do the work of true stems, roots, and leaves they are not classed as such. The root-like parts of a sea weed are usually simply hold-fasts, which anchor the plant to the rocks. Alg? which live in sea-water get their nourishment from the water which washes their entire surface.

When collecting alg?, every specimen which is intended for immediate mounting should be kept continuously in sea-water. This is what the pails are for. Every part of the plant should be taken, as the attachment to the rocks is as valuable as the rest. The knife is useful here, or a staff with a metal point, for scraping the weeds off the rocks.

The natural element of the sea plant is sea-water. Do not put your specimens into fresh water even to wash or rinse them, as they will lose some of their beauty. Unless dried soon after gathering they will decay and fade. In collecting, try and get plants of various sizes even though they look alike. The larger ones may be in the fruiting stage. Do your mounting out of doors if possible, where you can have all the basins of sea-water you want and need not be careful about spilling.

If your collection of sea weeds is for a regular herbarium you should by all means have mounting paper of the standard size and quality; heavy white, unruled paper, of a quality which will stand wetting without being spoiled, eleven and one half by sixteen and one fourth inches. If you are merely making a few souvenirs of your summer at the shore, your own taste is the only thing to be considered. You will require genus covers, labels, etc., just as for flowering plants. For the work of mounting you will want plenty of driers, some pieces of muslin the same size, sheets of standard size mounting paper as described above, a heavy needle fitted into a wooden handle, a pair of forceps, scissors, two smooth boards, and weights. For complete enjoyment of the work you will surely have a little magnifying glass, for your pressed specimens will never be as beautiful as the fresh ones.

Sea weed mounted on paper of standard size

With several shallow dishes of sea-water within easy reach of your hands, and your pails of specimens floating in sea-water, you are ready to begin. Select your first specimen and lift it with care from the water. Dip it up and down gently in clean water. Every bit of matter that does not belong strictly to that plant must come off, and all the sand or other dirt. Let it spread out naturally in the water and with your scissors prune it to suit your purpose. Some grow in such a bunch that they will not show well on the paper, others may have to be trimmed to get them onto the page. Do not, of course, trim them down to look alike but preserve their peculiarities and characteristics. The great charm in a collection of this kind is in its variety. When the plant is absolutely clean, float it in a dish of clean water. This last dish should be a broad one for now you are to slip your sheet of mounting paper right into the water and get the plant onto it, floating it out in a natural attitude. This takes a knack, you may be sure, but the knack can be acquired with practice. If you can provide yourself with a pane of glass to lay the sheet upon when you take it from the water you will have the best conditions. Some people get along very well with a shallow plate. Some of the delicate parts will be certain to cling together as you lift them out of the water, but you can remedy that by dipping a few drops of water onto them and with your needle you can arrange them as you wish. Take your time. This is not a job for a person in a hurried mood. Examine and admire each piece as you work at it. Make it yours for all time, although you may sell it the following day and never see it again. Lay one of your driers on the lower board, put a mounted specimen all wet as it is, on this, then spread over the sheet a piece of muslin, lay on another drier, mount another sea-weed, cover it with cloth and so on you may build up your pile. Top it with a drier, put on the second board, and your weight, of ten pounds or so. Coarse, thick alg? should not be pressed in the same pile with the fine ones as they would make the pressure uneven. Blotters and cloths must be changed every day at first, dried in the sun to be ready for the next day. After two or three days the cloths may be taken off, and the plants left in press at least a week longer, changing driers every day. If you can set aside a regular time each day for this job, it is not so likely to be forgotten. Moulding specimens are very disappointing.

After one has made a little collection of sea-weeds all the stories about the wonders of the deep will take on a reality. You will want to read all you can find about the Sargasso Sea, which sounds like a fairy story. Maybe you have a specimen of this sea-weed in your collection, maybe you have been fortunate enough to sail through that "vast acreage of vegetation as large as the continent of Europe, lying southwest of the Azores!" Do you wonder that the first navigators, sailing uncharted seas, were alarmed by this vast expanse and thought of course there were concealed shallows beneath the feathery fronds of this gulf weed? You must read, too, of some of the giants of the sea-weed tribe; the "devil's apron," the "sea-otter's cabbage," with its air-vessel as big as a hogshead, and its stalk a slender cord hundreds of feet in length. These are all alg?, and so are the microscopic plants which produce that wonderful phosphorescence on the surface of the ocean. There are still unsolved mysteries about these plants and there is always a chance that the boys and girls who collect sea-weeds to-day on the beach may in the years to come read some of the secrets now hidden from all eyes. It is well worth while to keep such a big thought in mind even while doing the simple and easy work of mounting specimens.

COLLECTING SHELLS

Of all the kinds of collections of natural objects that I have seen, there is none that has quite so much beauty, in itself, as a collection of shells. How easily they can be displayed in a cabinet for our friends to enjoy, too, and they are never attacked, so far as I know, by what we call museum pests, those destructive little creatures which make life a burden to the owners of collections of insects, plants, stuffed birds, and the like. Perhaps the products of the sea possess an especial charm to the "landlubber," but most people admire shells and love to handle them and to wonder where they came from and what kind of creatures built them.

Did any one ever visit the shore and come home without a pocket bulging with shells? Or a big handful tied up in a grimy handkerchief? Probably that is the way most of the great collections in the country were begun. You can begin one this summer or any time that you visit a beach, and add to it daily if you are spending the summer on the shore. As your collection and your interest grow, you can exchange specimens common on your coast with collectors who live on the other oceans and the Gulf. Remember that every shell is rare until you get it in your cabinet and what is common as the sand on your coast may be a rarity in other parts of the world.

You will probably begin your collection by picking up empty shells of various sizes, colours and shapes. Sometimes you will find a pair still held together by the tough tendon that worked the hinge when the bivalve that built the shell was alive and going about his affairs. Many of these will be worn by their daily encounter with the tide, and some will be pierced with small round holes too neatly ground to have been made by accident. These holes give you a hint as to why this shell is empty for they are the work of a band of little pirates which live by boring into their neighbours and sucking their life-blood. Many of the dead shells are those of animals which live far out at sea or in the deep water and have been washed ashore when the tide was high. Search along the shore where the water has drifted a line of sea-wrack. It looks like rubbish at first glance but it is almost sure to hold many small shells you will want, some even from far-off coasts.

The collector will not long be satisfied to gather only such shells as he finds on the beach. His eyes are opened. What seemed to him at first a flat, smooth surface of sand strewn with bits of rubbish and a few shells, most of them not worth picking up, has awakened into life. Every pool has become as a village, its inhabitants engaged in a variety of occupations. The smooth sand is inhabited. The centre of population is down at the low-water line. The rocks, the bridge piers, the wharf piles, and the sea-walls are seen to be covered with living things. Now collecting begins in good earnest.

On the sandy beach one needs a net, a sieve, and a shovel. The best costume for such work is the same as that worn when bathing. You will need to be in the water part of the time and will not wish to be hampered by anxiety as to clothing. The best time to go is the time you can go, of course, but you are more likely to find a great variety of things at the very lowest tide. You have heard of planting "by the moon" and you are right in supposing that the moon has little influence on potatoes and cabbages. But to go collecting on the sea-shore "by the moon" is quite reasonable. When the moon is full and when it is new they have what are called spring tides at which times the ebb is lower than ordinarily. After a storm is a fine time to look for things which have been dragged by the force of the water from their anchorage in the depths, and tossed ashore.

When you arrive on the sand all will appear to be quiet. Your best plan is to sit still and wait for some signs of life. In a moment some clam may send a jet of water into the air near you. If you are quick enough with your shovel you may catch the joker, but he has had more practice in the game than you and will probably elude you. Watch for bubbles and jets of water and dig frantically. You will be able to work up speed after a few trials and land your "fish." After some practice you will be able to unearth many living things you little suspected of being there. Crabs of various kinds are common and sea-worms of rainbow colours and curious forms. Creatures in snail-like shells, little and big, are common in the sand of our coast. As you shovel away try to have presence of mind enough to throw the sand into your sieve. Take this to the water's edge and wash it. You will in this way get many small things which you otherwise would not see.

Do not discard anything about which you have an unanswered question. Many of the mollusks leave egg cases on the sand or these are washed in by the tides. They are no less wonderful than the shells, for they are chapters in the same story. The egg-cases of the whelk are common. Those of the skate are called "devil's pocket-books" by natives.

Muddy shores have their own special forms, while rocky coasts differ from all the rest. Some creatures, like the hermit crab, are abundant everywhere. You can read the story of this fellow in any book on shells. Take some of the stories about him with a grain of salt. He may not be as bad as he is painted for much of the gossip about him has never been proven. His affairs need investigation.

The creatures which build the shells are for the most part soft bodied and can not be preserved except in some liquid like alcohol or formalin. These would be difficult to transport but will be of greatest value if you are studying the structure of the mollusks. If you wish to preserve the shells only, you should take great care to free every part from any animal matter that adheres to them. Boiling the shell will usually accomplish this.

Labels should be used and record made of the locality, date, collector's name, and other interesting data. Every naturalist of any experience has the note-book habit. Many a collector who trusts to his memory finds himself sadly at a loss when he comes to work with his specimens and especially when he wants to write about them. If his note-book tells him the story he will be able to make his account accurate as well as interesting.

COLLECTING INSECTS

The two principal reasons for making insect collections are first, to study, second, to sell. The beginner's outfit will be the same whichever reason is his. Time was when any one carrying an insect net was looked on with a sort of pitying suspicion. He or she was thought to be the victim of a mild form of lunacy, which might or might not take violent shape. All that is past now that insect study has grown so important and popular. It is quite safe to conclude that the hundreds of trained scientists employed by the government to investigate the problems involving insect life all started their studies by making a collection.

Probably the easiest kind of collection to make is one of plants. Once you see them, their fate is sealed. Escape is impossible. But collecting wild plants about your own door yard and in the woods is tame work compared to insect capturing. Your eye marks a butterfly or a dragon fly for your own, but you have him yet to reckon with and his wings may carry him far beyond your reach.

The outfit necessary to an insect collector is simple and inexpensive. For general collecting, and that is the best for a beginner, you need:

1. A net.

2. A killing bottle.

3. Insect pins.

4. Insect boxes.

While you can add to your collection almost every day in the year when once "you have the fever," the best time to begin is summer. More insects are in evidence then, and their active flight, their beautiful colours, and wonderful variety of form all help arouse the interest. As the collection grows you will find that many insects can be captured without a net, but as you will want every new butterfly, moth, dragon fly, and grasshopper that comes into your line of vision you must certainly have a net the first thing.

The materials needed for a net are these:

1. A smooth, light, but strong handle about three feet in length. (An old broom handle will answer.)

2. A strip of tin, four inches wide, and long enough to fit around the handle. (Why not use a piece of a tin can if you have strong shears?)

3. Three and a half feet of heavy wire. (No. 3 galvanized is the thing.)

4. A piece of cheese cloth, three fourths of a yard. (Get a good grade to stand a season's wear.)

Almost every boy knows a tinsmith and when it comes to putting these materials together, the services of a skilled workman are very valuable. If pocket money is scarce, there are any number of jobs a boy can do for the tinsmith in exchange for his help in making the net. That piece of wire is to form the ring which holds the cheese cloth bag; the ring must be fastened securely into the end of the handle. Bend the wire into a circle a foot in diameter, then bend back three inches of both ends and force them into the end of the handle, a hole for the purpose first having been made by burning or boring. Bend the tin round the handle at the net end to keep it from splitting when in use, and tack it on tight.

Insect net

If you know how to sew you are more fortunate than most of the boys I know, although why should not a boy learn to use a sewing machine? The bag ought to be sewed on the machine. You must first lay the finished edge or selvedge around the wire to make sure that it goes around and has a little extra for the seam. Pin the cloth together where it meets around the wire, then lay it on a table, double. Cut the bag, rounding the bottom neatly. Cheese cloth is the worst stuff to ravel, and if you sew the bag with a single seam you will soon be sorry. Pin the cloth so that the two edges are exactly together and sew a seam about a quarter of an inch wide all the way round. Now turn the bag inside out and fold it so that the seam you just made will be right on the edge. Sew another seam, three eighths of an inch deep this time. The ragged edge of the goods will now be inside of this second seam and can not fray out and make a nuisance of itself. If all this is worse than Dutch to you, take the bag to your sister. She is not so much cleverer than you but the chances are that if you ask her to sew you a French seam, she will make it just as I have described. Sew the finished bag onto the wire with heavy double thread and your net is ready for use.

Materials to make a killing bottle: 1. A wide-mouthed bottle. (I advise every collector to have two bottles, one to carry in the pocket all the time, the other for special trips for large things. For the first a small olive oil bottle, a test tube, or any convenient sized bottle with a mouth nearly or quite as large as the body of the bottle. A fruit jar, pint size, does well for the very large things.)

2. A cork which fits the bottle tightly, and is an inch long. A cork any shorter than this is an aggravation as it is so unhandy.

3. A lump of cyanide of potassium as big as a hickory nut for the small bottle, two or a little more for the big bottle. Yes, cyanide is a deadly poison, and the druggist will not sell it to you and your father will not let you buy it. But if you convince your mother that she can trust you to use a cyanide bottle as it is intended to be used, her objections will melt away. Just as likely as not she and your father, too, and your teacher, and maybe the druggist all made insect collections when they were your age and one or the other will make your cyanide bottles for you following these directions:

4. A teacup full of plaster of Paris.

Killing bottle

Handle the cyanide with a couple of sticks or drop the lumps from the paper into the bottles so as not to touch them with your fingers, mix a little of the plaster of Paris and water till it is like a thin paste and pour enough in on the lumps of cyanide to entirely cover them. Put in on top of this all the dry plaster of Paris the water will take up. Let the bottle stand open for an hour or so, then wipe it out with a rag, which may be burned afterward. Put in the cork and your killing bottle is ready to do its share toward making a collection for you. Don't forget to label your bottles "poison," and always be careful not to inhale the fumes. The smell of the breath of the bottle will be enough to remind you.

It was a Japanese student, who, when he found one of his pinned moths had come to life and beaten its wings to pieces in the box, said: "It ought-a be dead. He in cy'ni' bot'l' a' night." I should not wish to be quite so stoical. His bot'l' was probably an old one, which did its work too slowly.

MOUNTING INSECTS

The first insects I ever saw in a collection were a sorry sight. Beautiful as the specimens had been, they were all spoiled by the collector. The moths were all out of shape, wings half folded, the pins used were short common pins, and every specimen was disfigured with masses of verdigris, they were pinned into rough boxes in higgledy-piggledy fashion, and showed every sign of neglect and careless handling. My interest in insect collecting did not date from that hour but from a look I had at a friend's cabinet years later.

The first mistake a beginner makes is to use common pins. Really, before you begin to collect, you ought to send away for a supply of German insect pins. These can be bought from dealers in entomological supplies and a hundred each of Nos. 3 and 5 will cost thirty cents. With them your collection may be salable, and you may exchange your duplicates with other collectors, while if you use common pins your specimens will have no commercial value, and will soon be spoiled, by the corroding of the pins.

Cross-section of spreading-board, showing construction

The first insect you get will probably be a butterfly, or a moth, for these showy ones are all you are able to see. Later the smaller ones will attract your attention. Therefore you will not be able to mount your first specimen properly without a spreading-board. The drawing of one which appears on this page will tell you more about how to make as well as how to use it than any amount of description. If you can earn seventy-five cents more easily than by making a set of three of these in assorted sizes, you can buy for that amount an adjustable one which will serve you for all winged insects of all sizes.

Spreading-board, in use

I will suppose that you have captured your first butterfly. Do get a good sized one first as it will be easier to learn on that than on a small one. An hour in a freshly made cyanide jar is long enough to insure a painless death. If any one calls you a cruel boy at this time, assure the person that butterflies are very short-lived and that this one would have been eaten by a bird within an hour or two anyhow. The cyanide is the least painful form of dying for the butterfly. Its work is probably done, already. You can prove that you do not kill insects for the fun of seeing them die, by putting the bottle back in your pocket where they can die in private, and by never killing any unless you need them for your collection. A few duplicates for exchange is also legitimate. It does not injure a specimen to leave it in the jar over night. If you cannot spread it immediately, do not take it from the jar, as when dried they cannot be spread, as they are very brittle.

If you never looked at a butterfly before, you will look at this one. You will note that it has four broad wings attached to a rounded body. The portion of the body to which the wings are fastened is called the thorax. For a medium-sized insect, a No. 3 pin should be taken. The butterfly should be pinned through the thorax, half way between the front wings. Direct the pin so that it will come out in the middle on the under side of the thorax. One fourth of the pin's length should remain above the insect. This may seem a small matter but insects unevenly pinned look badly, and it spoils their salability. You will want some black-headed pins for use on the spreading-board. Common pins hurt the fingers, insect pins are too flexible and expensive. Pin strips of paper on to hold the wings in place. With the picture of butterflies on a spreading-board as a model, you will, after some experience, get so that you can do this well. It is no job for an impatient person, though. Leave the butterfly on the board until it is thoroughly dry, which takes three days. Put the board where the air can have free circulation around it, but not the mice.

Showing how to pin common insects

The only insects that are not pinned through the middle of the thorax are the beetles, those hard-shelled creatures like June bugs (which ought to be called May beetles), and potato bugs (which are also beetles). If you put a pin through the centre of a beetle's thorax, it spreads the wings out in an unnatural way. So collectors agree to pin them through the right wing-cover.

Pin butterflies through the thorax, between the front pair of wings

Your next requirement will be boxes to put the specimens in. Many a fine collection has been begun in ordinary cigar boxes. At first you will probably try to pin the insects right into the bottom of the box. After you have spoiled two or three of your rarest ones, bent a dozen or so expensive pins, you will conclude that the wood is too hard and does not hold the pins well. Be warned in time to save yourself this bother. The boxes should be lined with a thin layer of some material which, though soft enough to push a pin into easily, must at the same time be elastic and firm enough to hold the pins. Cork, linoleum, and slices of pith are all used. You may have noticed, though, if you have been to a large, up-to-date museum, that the specimens of insects are all pinned into solid blocks of wood. Many an hour I have spent pinning specimens into blocks in their permanent places in a great museum collection. It is hard work and has to be done with a tool. When once fastened on a block the insect is supposed to be a fixture; when it moves the block goes along. But the material you use in your boxes ought to be soft enough to make shifting of specimens easy. For example, at first you will get a great assortment. A butterfly to-day, a beetle or two to-morrow, a pair of moths the next day, some crickets, a dragon fly, a cicada, a waterbug, and so on. Take everything unless you already have it. That is the only way to collect. If you say, "Oh, I'll get a better one to-morrow," the chances are that the season will go by and you will not get that variety at all.

Glass-topped insect case

CLASSIFICATION

Your first box full will be a varied assortment. When you have all you can conveniently pin into three boxes without crowding, you will want to arrange them. If you have begun to study science you will know what "classify" means. Every school is made up of classes. So with insects. You will know by the looks of the insects that certain ones belong together. A good way to start is to put all the butterflies and moths into one box. You may not know what you have done, but you have simply separated the members of the order Lepidoptera from all the others. Look over those that are left and you will see that some, like the blundering June bug, have their wings so placed that a straight line appears down the middle of the back. These belong together, regardless of their colour, size, shape, habits, or other considerations. They belong to the order Coleoptera. Grasshoppers, katydids, and crickets belong to another group and can be pinned together. All the flies have two wings, and belong in a group apart from all the four-winged ones. The dragon flies go together. You will have representatives of other orders, less easy to distinguish, but by the time your collection has grown to this extent you will be ready for some beginner's book on entomology, which will make further classification simple enough. As you shift your specimens from one box to another observe a certain regularity of arrangement. The heads should all point in one direction. When pinning a group all of which are about one size, set the pins all in line, in military fashion. How much better they look! This neat, formal arrangement of the specimens adds greatly to your satisfaction and enjoyment of your collection. Avoid crowding and breakage. A dried specimen is almost everlasting, but at the same time it is the most fragile thing you can imagine.

As your collection grows in size, value, and interest, you will certainly want wooden cases. Perhaps your manual training teacher will be willing to let you build a box under his direction. A cabinet-maker can make them at one dollar or less, apiece, of well-seasoned basswood.

Before you have been collecting long, you will have learned by observation quite a lot about insects and their ways. You will know that some localities are very poor collecting ground, that other places yield an abundant variety; that the best time for butterflies is in a sunny forenoon; while moths are abroad in the early twilight and later. You will see that dragon flies are fond of flying about over streams or ponds and you may wonder why as you try in vain to net a fine one without getting your feet wet. Other insects are frankly aquatic and you can get them only by dipping your net in. It is well to have a second net if you expect to do much water collecting as the cloth is hard to smooth out after a wetting. As a majority of insects are vegetarian you will naturally seek among plants for specimens. If the winged forms are not eating the foliage you may discover that they are laying eggs on the leaves of the food plant on which their young must develop. If you live in town you will find it worth while to carry your bottle with you when you go out in the evening. Nocturnal insects of all kinds are attracted to electric lights, many of them to their death, as you will see. A candle in your open window will attract some valuable additions to your collection and also some you will sleep better without. Some collectors care nothing for a specimen unless it is rare. A better way is to regard them all as rare until you secure a specimen for your box, and of equal value towards building up a complete collection.

A LIFE HISTORY COLLECTION

You can not collect insects very long before you begin to see a lot of things you never noticed before. You see leaves cut or eaten in strange forms, or you find a cluster of tiny eggs on a leaf, or several leaves sewed or stuck together with strands of silk. Perhaps you find strange abnormal growths on certain plants, swellings on their stems, leaves transformed into balls, or pod-like or cone-like affairs which do not look natural. These things are sure to arouse your curiosity. Sometimes the answer to your question is right there. Cut open a swollen golden-rod stalk and you will find the culprit which caused the plant to grow that way. But how did the footless, helpless grub get there and when? You break down the mud-dauber wasp's nest from among the rafters of some building. What is that yellowish object that rolls from among the ruined adobe walls? Look! It is a spider. What business has a spider in the wasp's nest, if it is her nest? Spiders have none too good a reputation, but this spider does not act very spry. Seems to be alive, yet not alive.

The secret of the relation between the spiders and the wasps you can read in many a book. You might even guess at it, but there was no guess work about the observer who first studied out this secret. He did not get his knowledge from books. He patiently watched the mud-dauber going about her house building. He knew that her painstaking labour could have but one meaning. She was building not a home for herself, but for her children.

The wasp's children are not little wasps, yet they are none the less young wasps for being footless, colourless, wingless, stingless grubs. They are eggs at first of course, just as all insects are. When the mother wasp has one cell of her apartment house finished she concerns herself immediately with stocking the larder. Knowing the tastes of her yet unborn young, she leaves for a time the mud hole, and visits the haunts of certain spiders. Finding one to her liking, she captures it. Not appreciating the fact that the law forbids the use of preservatives in meats, she injects a drop of some wonder-working fluid into the spider and preserves the creature, not only fresh but alive, though paralyzed. Upon the inert body she places an egg, then seals the cell, well assured in her mind that when the grub hatches it will find the food just as she left it and just enough to nourish the young one to maturity.

Before your first season of collecting is past you will find yourself bringing home as specimens many insects which you will see are not fully grown. Little grasshoppers, scarcely bigger than a fly yet possessed of such strength of leg that they can hurl themselves into the air for a distance equal to twenty times their own length. How do you know that they are young grasshoppers and not fully grown ones of some tiny race? Look at one closely and you will see a look of youth about him that is unmistakable. He is fuzzy, his head is too big for him, his legs out of all proportion to the rest of him. Then, too, he has no wings, just little buds where the wings will be some day. By these tokens you will know him for a baby. You can find them in all sizes and can have a series to show the stages of growth. This is one of the first steps in the making of a "Life History Collection," far more valuable to the naturalist than a collection containing only mature insects.

Generally speaking, all adult insects have wings, and all winged insects are adults. There are exceptions to this, but they will take their places when the time comes. The young of the insects belonging to certain orders resemble their parents enough so as to be placed where they belong at a glance. This is true of the grasshoppers, katydids, and crickets, of the true bugs which include the squash-bugs, the chinch-bug, the stink-bug and others. Of most of the other orders this is not true. The young do not look at all like the adults. In many cases as, for example, the dragon fly and the mosquito, they are fitted in the immature stages to a life in the water. They must, on this account, have organs for swimming, for aquatic breathing, and for getting a living in the water. The forms of these young insects are just as varied as those of the adults, but they do not resemble the winged ones in the least. The life history collection must contain specimens of the immature forms of insect life as well as adults if it is to be most useful and complete.

Some orders of insects, as for example the moths, butterflies, beetles, flies, bees, wasps, ants, and others pass through four distinct changes of form. They always follow the same order. Every generation, beginning with the egg, passes next to the larva (called caterpillar or incorrectly worm, or grub, or maggot), on to the pupa, then to the adult. The egg of an insect is often a most beautiful object. With a hand lens, which every collector will surely need, one can see its delicate colouring, its pearl-like shell, its curiously carved or sculptured surface. To get some idea of the great variety in form, colour, shape, and markings of insects' eggs, ask at your library for a book on butterflies, with coloured plates, and the chances are that you will be surprised.

The second or larval stage of the insect's life is the eating, growing stage. During this stage the young bee, butterfly, ant, or moth moults several times. In this process the entire old skin is shed, an operation well worth seeing. Under the old coat a new one has formed, which being larger, accommodates itself to the insect's increased size. The larval stage is in the case of many insects the active time when, if they are vegetable feeders, they injure crops.

When the larva has completed its growth it changes into a pupa. Some insects pass this third stage inside of silken cases they spin about themselves, others, after shedding the larval skin, find themselves each clad in a sort of horny coat of mail. We call these chrysalides. Some larv? creep away into the ground, there to shed their old coats and rest inside of the pupa cases which nature provides. Each one follows the fashion of his own family and is in no danger of being mistaken for any one else.

Out of the pupa, whether it be cocoon, chrysalis, or just plain pupa case, comes the adult. The main business of adult insects is to reproduce their kind. After the eggs are laid there is little excuse for their living. In the case of a great many kinds of insects death follows soon after. There are some noted exceptions to this rule as for instance the wasps which build with so much skill and patience the homes in which to rear their young, the ants and the bees, both social and solitary, which carry on such a complicated home life. Of these highly "civilized" insects only a word can be spoken here. From the chapter on "Bee-Keeping" and from other books you may learn of the wonders they perform. We must return now to our life history collection.

How the subject opens as we add specimens of cocoons and pupa cases to the collection! To get a complete series illustrating the life, let us say, of one of our common butterflies, the monarch or milk-weed butterfly, you should visit the clusters of milk-weed along the roadside or anywhere, in the forenoon of a sunny July or August day. A few butterflies are probably flitting about in rather casual fashion. Watch them light on the leaves, mark the leaf with your eye and hurry to the spot. Search well. The tiny speck of pale yellow may be a drop of milk but if it stands up on the leaf it is likely to be a butterfly's egg. Your lens will tell you. Having made sure of one you will find others.

You may find a young caterpillar lunching on the leaf. If just out of the egg it is a dull lead colour, but when half grown a young monarch is striped with rings of greenish yellow and black. Though handsome as to colour scheme, this caterpillar has manners unbecoming a plain citizen, let alone a monarch. Touch its back with a grass stem and see what happens.

If time permits you should visit your clump of milk-weed daily or better still take home the eggs and the young caterpillars. Keep the food plant fresh in a jar of water and get more when needed. As you want a specimen of the egg-shell for your collection, you must be on the spot when the young caterpillars come out. They sometimes eat the shell the first thing. It is a delicate operation to glue a thing as frail as this shell onto a dried milk-weed leaf, and you may have to content yourself with making a sketch of it on a small square of drawing paper. Pin the leaf or the drawing in the box. It is not easy to keep specimens of caterpillars. There is a method of preparing the inflated skins, but as the process is a difficult as well as a ghastly one, you can wait till you go to college to learn it. For the milk-weed caterpillar I suggest instead, a coloured drawing. When your caterpillars are full-sized they will transform into chrysalides. It is worth sitting up all night to see a sight like this. When a caterpillar spins a little mat of silk and suspends itself by a tail-hook, you will know that the performance is about to begin. The chrysalis is a lovely light green with spots of gold upon it. All this beauty was hidden under the skin of the caterpillar. With an egg, a caterpillar, a chrysalis, and an adult you have all four stages of the monarch's life represented.

INSECT HOMES

Nothing in the insect world interests me more than their homes. The collector sees many of these in his rounds, and begins to consider how he can complete his series by adding samples of them as specimens to his collection. I was lucky enough to find, when on a collecting trip one day, a curious structure made of mud on a weed stem. It was declared by the professor to be an ants' "cow-shed." Knowing that the museum specimen was in a bad state of repair I readily offered my find to replace it. The professor refused the gift, but offered me what he thought it was worth. I accepted and bought a pair of shoes with the money, which shows that these things have a market value.

It is well to press a specimen of the favourite food plant of a species of insect and make it a part of the collection. But dried butterflies, fastened in utterly unnatural attitudes upon dried plants they would scorn to eat in life, framed or put under glass globes on the parlour table do not appeal to the naturalist. They are "fakes" pure and simple.

There will be a few among the many who begin to make collections of various kinds who will keep at it. I know one young man who sold his stamp collection for enough to take him on his first trip abroad. Six hundred dollars was the sum realized, I believe. Those of you who have read Mrs. Gene Stratton-Porter's story "The Girl of the Limberlost" remember that "the girl" sold Indian relics and insects enough to send herself to high school and start a college fund. She made up little life history collections to illustrate the talks she gave as special teacher of nature study in the grades in a city school system.

The Limberlost girl had an offer of three hundred dollars for a complete collection of the butterflies and moths of the United States. She had a wonderful collecting ground in and about the big swamp, and she had enough duplicates to exchange with other collectors for things she could not get at home. In order to have perfect specimens, both male and female, she made breeding cages and reared the moths and butterflies. She dug in the earth about the tree roots and other "likely" places for pup?, she searched the shrubs and vines and trees for hanging cocoons, she brought in innumerable eggs, caterpillars, and chrysalides and the story of her successes and failures fills many delightful pages. It all rings so true that you can't help hoping that you may see her insect collection some day, and hear her tell how she brought this butterfly up "by hand," how she had to wait a year to get a male to complete one series, how narrowly she escaped the quicksands in a wild chase she had for another, and other details of her occupation.

REARING INSECTS

Bandbox breeding-cage for insects

Breeding insects is easy. Look at the home-made breeding-cage illustrated on this page. Materials needed: One round or oval hat box, a strip of wire screen, two and a half feet wide or so and long enough to fit around the inside of the box and lap three inches. Either sew the screen together in the form of a cylinder or fasten it every six inches with paper fasteners. (Any way to keep it together good and tight.) Push the screen down inside the box till it touches the bottom, put the lid on and you are ready for business. If the screen is too wide you will have trouble in reaching to the bottom of the box which you will have to do sometimes, for one reason or another. Into breeding-cages made on this general plan you can put all sorts of material while waiting developments, and get many additions to your collection that you would otherwise miss entirely.

Some surprising facts are often discovered by accident. A breeding-cage containing a female Cecropia, one of our largest and most beautiful moths, was accidentally left near an open window over night. The next morning between twenty and thirty moths of that species were found fluttering about the cage. They had evidently been attracted from some distance, but found their way to their imprisoned sister unerringly.

Collectors have many ways of capturing night flying moths. One way is known as "sugaring." This consists of daubing a sticky, sweet preparation on the trunks of trees and visiting the baits later in the evening with cyanide jars and capturing the specimens which are attracted by the odour to the feast set for them. It is unsportsmanlike and entirely unnecessary to put any poisonous substance in the bait and this practice should be darkly frowned upon.

The best places for sugaring are these: a strip of woodland edging a stream, the rim of the woods adjoining an open field or pasture, old roadways through woods of beech, oak, chestnut, or any mixed growth, wooded slopes in city parks where there is some protecting undergrowth, anywhere about the old groves surrounding country homes. Windy or wet nights are not the best for sugaring, neither are moonlight nights. The ideal night for this is the evening after a hot, sticky day in late summer, the sky overcast and dark but not foggy. You will need a lantern to work by. Keep calm. Quick, nervous movements frighten away more moths than the light.

The following is the unspeakable concoction recommended by one collector as "the best ever" for baiting moths:

Four pounds darkest sugar.

One quart New Orleans molasses.

One pint stale beer or ale. (This should have been allowed to stand uncorked in a warm place for a week, before using it.)

Mix all together and heat gradually. Boil till about as thick as varnish, which takes about five minutes. When cool add four ounces of Jamaica rum. Cork loosely and keep in a cool place. The strong odour of this mixture pervades the air for a long distance, and proves attractive to the olfactories of moths though none of us would care to have it about.

A good evening's work at sugaring ought to furnish moths enough to keep you busy spreading all the next forenoon. A night in the cyanide jar will do them no injury. It is well to have a pair of light pincers to take specimens out with. If all are emptied out at once some will dry too much before you are ready to spread them. Every time they are handled they lose part of the scales and become slightly defective. If practical, put the very large specimens into the jar hinder end first. This will make it easier to get them out head first.

It is almost inevitable that the inveterate collector of insects shall become a naturalist. By constant watching, he discovers how insects live, and how they affect plants. He will witness many a tragedy. He will find that there are among them thieves and robbers, pirates, cannibals, assassins, scavengers, and disease carriers. He will witness many acts of heroic self-denial, some feats of strength, endurance tests, and acrobatic turns. He will admire the ingenious architecture and wonder at the never ending variety of forms, colours, and markings they exhibit. Many questions will come up in the course of his studies. He may seek the books in vain for information on some of the commonest insects of the garden. Entomology is a new science. Boys and girls who begin the study by collecting their first insect to-day may, before they stop, discover some important fact to add to the sum of human knowledge and make the world a better place to live in.

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