182 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Dearly do I lo^k to observe these beautiful 
strangers, which have retained amongst us their 
native instincts and habits. The sensitive plant 
shrinks from my hand, as it does from that of 
the American savage; the African marigold 
predicts to me, as to the black inhabitants of 
the desert, dry or rainy weather; the day-lily of 
Portugal tells me that in an hour it will be 
noon; and the Peruvian nightshade informs the 
timid lover that the trysting-hour is at hand. 
