ials, it glitters in her tiny hand like a gaudy
butterfly, now half, now wholly shading her radiant face, which
quickly peeps out again from behind its shelter, like the moon from
out a passing cloud. This little article, always costly, sometimes
very expensive, in her hand seems in its eloquence of motion almost to
speak. She has a witching flirt with it that expresses scorn; a
graceful wave of complacence; an abrupt closing of it that indicates
vexation or anger; a gradual and cautious opening of its folds that
signifies reluctant forgiveness; in short, the language of the fan in
the hand of a Cuban lady is a wonderfully adroit and expressive
pantomime that requires no interpreter, for, like the Chinese written
language, it cannot be spoken.

It may be the prodigality of nature in respect to Flora's kingdom
which has retarded the development of a love for flowers among the
people of the island. Doubtless if Marechal Niel roses, Jacqueminots,
jonquils, and lilies of the valley were as abundant with us in every
field as clover, dandelions, and buttercups, we should hardly regard
them with so much delight as we do. It is not common to see flowers
under cultivation as they are at the North. They spring up too readily
in a wild state from the fertile soil. One cannot pass over half a
league on an inland road without his senses being regaled and
delighted by the natural floral fragrance, heliotrope, honeysuckle,
sweet pea, and orange blossoms predominating. The jasmine and Cape
rose, though less fragrant, are delightful to the eye, and cluster
everywhere among the hedges, groves, and coffee estates. There is a
blossoming shrub, the native name of which we do not remember, but
which is remarkable for its multitudinous crimson flowers, so
seductive to the humming-birds that they hover about it all day long,
burying themselves in its blossoms until petal and wing seem one. At
first upright, a little later the gorgeous bells droop downward and
fall to the ground unwithered, being poetically called Cupid's tears.
Flowers abound here which are only known to us in our hothouses, whose
brilliant colors, like those of the cactus, scarlet, yellow, and blue,
are quite in harmony with the surroundings, where everything is aglow.
There was pointed out to us a specimen of the frangipanni, a tall and
nearly leafless plant bearing a milk-white flower, and resembling the
tuberose in fragrance, but in form much like our Cherokee rose. This