NIGHT IN THE GARDEN 



During the heated days of late summer, few but the 

 most enthusiastic of gardeners care to loiter in the open 

 garden until evening. Then, the sun having sunk in 

 the west, we venture forth from the shade of house or 

 of trees, and leisurely walk the round of our paths, 

 refreshingly fanned by the little rippling breeze which 

 makes the leaves flutter as it rhythmically comes and 

 passes. The last bees have reached their hives, laden 

 with the sweet product of their hard labour. The 

 honeyed flowers, which look to their visits and to the 

 visits of other sun-loving insects for aid in fertilisation, 

 have, so far as possible, covered their tempting cups to 

 avoid the damping or loss of the precious pollen within. 

 Snails and slugs crawl from hidden caves, prepared to 

 work in darkness the evil which fear of feathered 

 warders hinders by day. Except for these workers of 

 ill, these foes of beauty, the garden is apparently going 

 to sleep. But wait. Wherefore is this increasing frag- 

 rance streaming from the honeysuckle trellis into the 

 cooling air — a fragrance surely not without seductive pur- 

 pose ? Straight as the course of a homeward bound bee, 

 a hawk-moth flies to the expanded blossoms and extracts 

 the honey from the narrow tubes, too deep for bee or 

 wasp to sound. Look, too, at this bed which but an 

 hour ago showed nothing but a green mass of leaves 

 serrated as those of dandelions. Great white flowers, 

 three inches or more across, have now appeared and 

 produce a truly wonderful effect. These are the 

 flowers of one of the evening primroses (Oenothera 



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