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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



from the pink, which he accuses of having no 

 power of invention at all. 



Ordinarily we think of the pink as havnig a 

 pink flower, and, if we reflect at all, that the 

 color we describe as pink lends its name to the 

 flower; but the etymologists mostly disagree 

 therewith. They declare that the pink is the 

 lender and not the borrower, and that the color 

 owes its name to the fact that it so closely 

 imitates the flower. It is said that the word 

 pink as applied to the flower is derived from 

 the verb '"pincken," meaning "to scallop," so 

 that the flower borrows its name from an act 

 and transfers it to a color. We habitually use 

 the word pink to express our highest ideals 

 along many lines, thus unconsciously paying 

 high tribute to this beautiful little flower and 

 its relatives. A woman we may describe as the 

 pink of perfection and a man as the pink of 

 courtesy. 



COMMON EVENING PRIMROSE 

 (CEnothera biennis L.) 



(See page 489) 



Who has not seen the common evening prim- 

 rose with its pale yellow flowers "luikin out o' 

 their leaves like wee sons o' the sun" has 

 missed a sight that has gladdened millions of 

 hearts. 



In the United States the evening primrose 

 is a hardy warrior in the competition for ex- 

 istence and is not over-particular as to where 

 it is stationed on the battle-front. Roadsides, 

 dry fields, thickets, and the corners of the old- 

 fashioned worm fence are satisfactory stations 

 for it, and it is equally at home in Labrador 

 and Florida and as far west as the Great 

 Plains Mountains. 



It is when the sun goes to bed that the even- 

 ing primrose's morning dawns. It is one of 

 the denizens of the Great White Way of the 

 Flower City, waking while the world sleeps 

 and sleeping while the world wakes. 



As the sun approaches the western horizon 

 the evening primrose awakes and bedecks it- 

 self in yellow and white, perfumes itself up 

 with the most seductive of sweet-scented odors, 

 and prepares to welcome the sphinx moths that 

 come to tarry and to sip its sweetness through 

 the long and silent night. 



Before the dusk grows deep we may behold 

 the visitors arriving and departing and the 

 grand reception in full sway. Now comes a 

 beautiful little moth dressed in rose pink, its 

 wings bordered with yellow ; now the Isabella 

 tiger-moth, and now another and another. iVU 

 of them have long tongues, though it has never 

 been charged that they use them for gossip. 

 The nectar cup of the evening primrose is deep, 

 and the short-tongued moth stands a chance of 

 going hungry. 



The primrose, though it revels in the night, 

 is yet somewhat stingy with its favors, for 

 often it will open up only one flower to each 

 stalk. It does this to insist that its messengers 

 who feast on its nectar shall carry its pollen 

 to a flower on another plant. 



One night of revelry is enough for a flower 



of "milady primrose," for when morning 

 dawns the corolla wilts, hangs awhile, and 

 then drops away ; and when we see her next 

 day the freshness is gone, and she presents the 

 appearance of one whose dissipations have laid 

 heavy toll upon her. 



But if by any chance no visitor has come 

 during the night to sip its nectar and to be 

 pollen-bearer for it, the primrose does not 

 close when the moths retire at dawn, but keeps 

 open house for an hour or so in the morning, 

 until the bees can repair the neglect or until a 

 humming-bird can pass its way on her rounds. 

 Toward the end of summer, after a sufficient 

 number of seeds have set to insure the future, 

 the primrose becomes more generous of its 

 sweets and often bids welcome to the bees the 

 whole live-long day. 



The evening primrose must not be con- 

 founded with the true primrose of England 

 and the poets, a very different plant, belonging 

 to a different family. 



STAR GRASS (Hypoxis hirsuta (L.) 



Coville) 



(See page 490) 



The yellow star grass is a quiet and modest 

 little flower that asks only for a chance to live 

 in the dry open woods and fields, gleaming out 

 of the turf by day as the stars gleam out of 

 the heavens by night. From Alay to October 

 it shines out of the landscape, and it finds but 

 few parts of the United States where it cannot 

 dwell prosperously. 



Usually only one of the tiny blossoms on a 

 stalk opens at a time. The others wait their 

 turn, each hoping that those ahead may have 

 the honor of entertaining the tin_v bee that de- 

 lights in their sweets and pays them back in 

 pollen-bearing messenger service. But if a 

 flower "blushes unseen" b}^ the bee for too 

 long a period, it grows tired of "looking and 

 hoping," gives up its ambition for cross-fer- 

 tilization, and, folding itself as the Arab folds 

 his tent in the night, it brings its own pollen- 

 laden anthers into contact with its own stigma, 

 and thus produces self-fertilization as a last 

 resort against death without posterity. 



But if the bee comes the flower is happy, and 

 offers its visitor not only its nectar, but gives 

 it pollen to carry to its home as flour for the 

 bee-bread which the bee's tiny babies must 

 have. 



Nature's frugality is revealed in the case of 

 the star grass. When its flower is upright and 

 almost closed, she paints its outside with green 

 color ; but when the blossom is spread out the 

 inner side of the petals display the chief deco- 

 ration. 



WILD GERANIUM OR CRANE'S-BILL 

 (Geranium maculatum L.) 



(See page 491) 



This graceful flower, purplish pink or lav- 

 ender in color, comes in April and goes in 

 July. It has a preference for woods, thickets, 

 and shady woodsides, and does not seek the 



