320 THE BOOK OF A NATURALIST 
and the motion imparted by the wind which made 
it so wonderful. A sheet of yellow buttercups or 
a field thickly grown with dandelions does not 
produce this effect owing to its want of motion. 
The stiffer the flower on its stem the less vivid in 
appearance is its sentient life—the less does it 
enjoy the air it breathes. These flowers, on tall 
pliant stems, danced in the wind with a gladness 
greater than that of Wordsworth’s daffodils. It 
was only when the first shock of wonder and delight 
was over, that, looking closely at a flower, I made 
the discovery that it was the goat’s-beard, the 
homely John-go-to-bed-at-noon, and the hardly 
respectable—I dare not say what! 
After that I visited the field three or four times 
a day and found that the flower begins to open 
some time after sunrise and comes into its fullest 
bloom about ten o’clock; that at noon it begins 
to close, but for an hour or two the change is 
imperceptible, after which one notices that the 
field is losing its lustre, the dimness gradually 
growing until by three o’clock the field is all dark 
green again. John’s in bed, tucked up, and in a 
deep sleep which will last quite seventeen hours; 
then he won’t wake with a start, but slowly, 
slowly, yawning and rubbing his yellow eyes and 
taking at least two hours to get out of bed. 
I do not know what has been said by the authori- 
ties on the physiology of plants on this habit of the 
flower, but it strikes the ordinary person as some- 
thing abnormal or unnatural. We all know many 
