176 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Dearly do I love 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 pre- 
dicts 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. 
Taam 





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