22 STARLIGHT AND SUNSHINE. 
the bent of the nasturtium already described. Every corner of 
our garden offers some similar revelation, and even the plebeian 
weeds have caught the odd contagion, and “do as the Ro- 
mans do.” 
The formidable mats of pusley which our gardener had sin- 
gled out for extermination on the morrow—with anticipation, 
perhaps, of a “mess o’ greens” —are now supplanted by an un- 
recognizable net-work of knotty stems, the artful leaves concealed 
flat against the prostrate red stalks, and with edges upward. 
Tall strange columns loom up, white and ghostly, beneath the 
glare of your lantern, here and there among the potato- plants. 
They prove to be pigweeds, but for strangeness they might have 
sprung up like mushrooms since your last visit, most of the upper 
leaves, which during the day had extended wide on their long 
stems, now inclining upward against the stalk, and enclosing the 
tops of younger branches. Still other older plants are seen with 
leaves extended much as at mid-day, but nearly all turned edge- 
wise by a twist in the stem. 
The chickweed’s eye is closed, and 
“Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.” 
The creeping- mallow blossom now ignores its proud array of 
“cheeses,” coiling in a close cone, and the oxalis flower has left 
her shooting pods to keep the vigil, closed and nodding upon its 
| stem, while its foliage masquerades in one of the oddest disguises 
of all this somnambulistic company, the three heart-shaped leaf- 
lets reflexed and adjusting themselves back to back around the 
stem with many curious contortions. 
Whatever the disputed function of this nocturnal movement, 
it has at least been shown to be essential to the life of the 
plant, careful experiment having demonstrated, according to one 
authority, that “if the leaves are prevented from so regulating 
their surface, they lose their color and die in a few days.” Dar- 
win also conclusively demonstrated the same fact with various 
other plants. 
