FLOWERS AND FOLKS. 229 



of the roadside. Yet its blossoms have only 

 to be looked at and smelled of to make their 

 way, homely as is the stalk that produces 

 them. They love darkness rather than 

 light, but it certainly is not "because their 

 deeds are evil." One might as well cast 

 the opprobrious text in the face of the moon 

 and stars. Now and then some enterprising 

 journalist, for want of better employment, 

 investigates anew the habits of literary work- 

 ers ; and it invariably transpires that some 

 can do their best only by daylight, while 

 the minds of others seem to be good for 

 nothing till the sun goes down; and the 

 wise reader, who reads not so much to gain 

 information as to see whether the writer 

 tells the truth, shakes his head, and says, 

 "Oh, it is all in use." Of course it is all 

 in use, just as it is with whippoorwills and 

 the morning-glory. 



The mention of the evening primrose calls 

 for the further remark that plants, not less 

 than ourselves, have a trick of combining 

 opposite qualities, a coarse-grained and 

 scraggy habit, for instance, with blossoms 

 of exquisite fragrance and beauty. The 

 most gorgeous flowers sometimes exhale an 



