Gustavus Frankenstein.

It is not alone the delicious grape, the grateful apple, the luscious pear, the clustered cherries, the tart currants, the golden orange, the sweet blackberries, the refreshing melon, the blooming peach, the purple plum, the sun-fed strawberries, or whatever other products of the plants we may deem good to eat, that are entitled to the name of fruit. The very mention, the very thought of fruit, brings to our minds an ever-welcome idea of something not only wholesome and pleasing to the taste, but at the same time beautiful; for all fertile flowers, on whatever plant they may grow, merge eventually into fruit. That fruit may not be edible; it may be bitter, it may be sour, it may be as dry as a chip, or it may even be poisonous,—still it is fruit. It is fruit to the plant, if not to us.

The seed, we may say, is the infant offspring of the plant, by means of which, in the course of nature, it perpetuates its kind. The flower is the first step in the formation of the fruit. The plant opens to the sunshine a charming expression of form and color in the budding flower. Nursing in its bosom the growing germ, the flower usually sheds its gay attire, throws off its petals, its ribbons, and its tassels, and in a sober, motherly way devotes itself to the one great task of cherishing, perfecting, and guarding the seed.

In fact, the flower, which at first seemed but a transport of joy, now shorn of its bridal ornaments, has become the substantial fruit. That fruit is the guardian of the seed, within which sleeps the infant plant; and according to the needs of that seed will the fruit be fashioned. Are the seeds to be carried far and wide?—ten to one the fruit is furnished with a plume, a sail, or a wing, by which to be wafted through the air, or with hooks to cling to passing animals, or with some other contrivance to effect conveyance.

Or, if the seed inside be provided with a sail, the fruit will open and let the little seed go forth and seek its fortune by itself. Endless are the expedients by which the seed and the fruit seek to perpetuate the kind of plant from which they spring.

We may look at the well-known fruit-head of the dandelion, which is the prettiest little airy-like silken ball that can be imagined. Doubtless, it has not occurred to everybody, what this beautiful sphere, so common in the meadows and by the road-sides, really is. Previous to this sphere, and in the place of it, was the flower, the well-known yellow dandelion, which belongs to the composite family.

The dandelion is not really one flower, but a circled group of many small flowers or florets. These are surrounded by an outer circle of green leaflets, which bend down when the florets have changed into fruits, allowing them to radiate in every direction from the core in the centre. The whole ball is made up of many small fruits, each of which is a single seed enclosed in a thin cover, surmounted by an elevated circled plume.

Blow on this lovely little sphere, and away will fly the little tufted fruits, some one way and some another. If there is any breeze stirring, there is no knowing how far they will go. It is not strange, then, that dandelions spring up almost everywhere. See what a vast number of fruits must go sailing about, all over the country, on a dry midsummer’s day. It is true, not half of them grow up into plants to make more dandelions, but a great many of them do.

In the same way, the beautiful asters of our woods, with their flowers of yellow or purplish disks, and lovely rays of white or purple, as large as roses, let their little fruits fly away from their heads as soon as ripe and dry.

There are about as many different kinds of fruits as there are of flowers. The plants of the bean family, for instance, have fruits like the bean pods. These pods, when ripe and dry, split open at the two edges, and then the beans or seeds drop out. Do you know the pods of the honey-locust trees,—large, broad, thin, and sweet? Clover too belongs to the bean family. You can find the tiny pods in the dry heads of clover, if you will pick out the little withered flowers and open them.

Some fruits have a kind of wings. Such are the fruits of our beautiful maple tree; and very pretty are these maple keys, as they are called, when they hang in clusters from the branches, and dangle among the leaves. At the end, where they are joined, there is in each key a thick, hard, round swelling, in which is the seed. When the fruit is ripe and dry it falls off, and we may often see the pair of keys flying away together. As they are light, they go whirling in the wind, sometimes to a great distance. The fruit of the ash-tree looks like that of the maple, and also hangs in bunches; but each fruit is a single key.

These are but a few of the many kinds of fruits to be found on plants, each in itself a curiosity and a beauty; and how much we fairly owe to them is scarcely ever in our thoughts. If we consider but wheat alone, how valuable to us is its little fruit, the simple grain; to say nothing of the fruits of other grasses, such as rice, rye, oats, and the large and generous ears of Indian-corn.

Nor must the cotton-plant be forgotten, whose fruit does not indeed feed, but clothes our bodies, enters into countless uses in every household, is indispensable on every craft that sails the sea, and inseparable from so many industries on land and water. The fruit of the cotton-plant is a pod, which, bursting open, reveals a mass of white woolly fibres, enveloping and clinging to the seeds. This is the beautiful and useful cotton.