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 



