d in a hedge, if left to
itself, grows up into a tree which gracefully inclines its head like a
weeping willow; while a mammoth white bell, or trumpet flower, hangs
pendent from the extremity of every limb, each flower larger and more
beautiful than our favorite house lily, and giving forth a richer odor
than the rose. From the exquisite delicacy and richness of the fruit
which this plant (the chirimoya) bears, and the danger arising from
eating of it too freely, it is not unfrequently called the tree of the
forbidden fruit; sometimes also it is called the custard plant.

THE PARADISE OF JALAPA.

Among the pleasing sights which we beheld was an orange orchard, in
which I did not see a single tree that was not delicately and
gracefully formed. In this profusion of nature I saw our own favorite
flowers. A tiny crimson rose was creeping about in every place, while
the large pink rose, which grew so rank, was clinging to an old wall
and in full blossom; and many other varieties of crimson, white,
yellow, and scarlet roses grow here without care; the morning-glory and
honey-suckle are wild flowers here; the sweet-william, the
lady-slipper, and all the flowers that we cultivate in summer, appear
here to be spontaneous productions of nature. Even that sweetest and
most beautiful of flowers, the passion-flower, with its mystical cross
and five protruding seeds, was running over a frame, and yielding a
profusion of blossoms, and a fruit--the granada--which almost equals in
richness and delicacy the fruit of the chirimoya. But all the natural
wonders of this town are not yet enumerated; for the fruits as well as
the flowers of every climate flourish in Jalapa. There are
strawberries, of the largest size, growing beside a coffee-tree the
tree being filled with coffee-berries. Peach-trees were in full blossom
in November, beside apricots and chirimoyas, while potatoes flourish
among the bulbous productions of a tropical climate. The people of the
town take a pride in its natural beauty; and there are no filthy
alleys, no squalid poverty, or uncleanly hovels. Every house appears to
be of stone; the walls neatly whitewashed, and bordered with pink, red,
blue, green, or yellow; and the streets are fashioned to suit the
grounds, without regard to checker-board regularity.

I stood in an upper story of the house of a Mr. Todd, on the opposite
side of the little stream that runs in front of the town, and looked
out from that favored