The Perfume of an Evening Primrose. 237 



of religious ceremony it would not be safe to omit ; 

 and at all times I am as reluctant to pass without 

 approaching my nose to it, as the great Dr. Johnson 

 was to pass a street-post without touching it with his 

 hand. My motive, however, is not a superstitious one, 

 nor is it merely one of those meaningless habits which 

 men sometimes contract, and of which they are 

 scarcely conscious. When I first knew the even- 

 ing primrose, where it is both a wild and a garden 

 flower and very common, I did not often smell at it, 

 but was satisfied to inhale its subtle fragrance from 

 the air. And this reminds me that in England it 

 does not perfume the air as it certainly does on the 

 pampas of La Plata, in the early morning in places 

 where it is abundant ; here its fragrance, while 

 unchanged in character, has either become less 

 volatile or so diminished in quantity that one is 

 not sensible that the flower possesses a perfume 

 until he approaches his nose to it. 



My sole motive in smelling the evening prim- 

 rose is the pleasure it gives me. This pleasure 

 greatly surpasses that which I receive from other 

 flowers far more famous for their fragrance, 

 for it is in a great degree mental, and is due to 

 association. Why is this pleasure so vivid, so 

 immeasurably greater than the mental pleasure 

 afforded by the sight of the flower? The books 

 tell us that sight, the most important of our 

 senses, is the most intellectual; while smell, the 

 least important, is in man the most emotional 

 sense. This is a very brief statement of the fact; 



