Leaves from a Madeira Garden 



clambering over tall magnolia trees in stately 

 gardens. Perhaps it is most charming when 

 covering a long railing on a terrace. In such a 

 situation you may look down upon, or up to, 

 its dense masses of bloom, as the fancy takes 

 you. Where with constricting coils it over- 

 masters a growing tree, there is a note of 

 cruelty, a shadow of impending doom, a hint 

 of that desperate struggle for life which fills 

 with sadness the tropical forest — a struggle in 

 which at last the destroyed and the destroyer 

 fall together. The variety alba is remarkable 

 for the quality of its pure opaque white, but it 

 fails to wrest the palm of loveliness from its 

 better-known cousin. Nor does it grow with 

 such strength and freedom. 



Of white blossoms none surpass in delicacy 

 and grace the hanging bells of the Datura. 

 Throughout the winter they have appeared 

 once a month to greet the full moon, but for 

 the April moon they have reserved their most 

 liberal profusion. And now they give forth 

 their most pungent odours — odours almost 

 overpowering at nightfall, when all the garden 

 scents are strongest. This habit of flowering 

 at the full moon appears to be not merely 



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