Passion-flower

Surrounded by lofty airy cassias, broad-leaved, white-stemmed cecropias, thick-crowned myrtles, large-flowered bignonias, climbing tufts of the mellifluous paullinias, far-spreading tendrils of the passion-flower, and of the richly flowering hatched coronilla, above which rise the waving summits of Macaubu palms, we fancied ourselves transported into the gardens of the Hesperides.

A great cluster of passion-flowers stood near the verandah, and I stooped to gather some of the sad, mystical flowers. I always loved passion-flowers; roses and other flowers there were in profusion; but I preferred my passion-flowers.

A delightful residence was made of the house; it was raised a storey, surrounded by a verandah, and half hidden under beautiful trees—mimosas, fig-sycamores, bauhinias, and paullinias, whose trunks were invisible beneath a network of scarlet-flowered bromelias and passion-flowers.

“Why, Ethel,” he cried “these are passion-flowers! Who ever heard of a bride with a bouquet of passion-flowers? What an evil omen, my darling! I am not superstitious, but it has frightened me.” “Nor am I superstitious,” she said, laughing. “Why did you gather them?” he asked. “Passion-flowers on a wedding-day! Why did you gather them, Ethel?”