164 EYE SPY 
" A tuft of evening primroses 
O'er which the wind may hover till it dozes, 
O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, 
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap 
Of buds into ripe flowers." 
Nor is it necessary to brave the night air to 
witness this sudden transformation. A cluster of 
the flowers placed in a vase beneath an evening 
lamp will reveal the episode, though robbed of the 
poetic attribute of their natural sombre environ- 
ment and the murmuring response of the twilight 
moth, a companion to which its form, its color, and 
its breath of perfume and impulsive greeting are 
but the expression of a beautiful divine affinity. 
Then there is that pretty daylight mystery of 
the faded, drooping bells of last night's impulsive 
blossoms, each perhaps tenanted by the tiny, faith- 
ful moth which first welcomed its open twilight 
chalice, and which now has crept close within its 
wilted cup, the yellow tips of its protruding wings 
simulating the fading petals. And again, a few 
weeks later, with what surprise do we discover 
that these long columns of green seed -pods are 
not always what they seem, but are intermingled 
with or supplanted by smooth, green caterpillars 
which exactly resemble them in size and general 
shape, the progeny of our tiny pink and yellow 
moth now feeding on the young seed -pods! 
Verily even a vireo or worm -eating warbler, who 
is supposed to know a green caterpillar when he 
