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The procession of the flowers In Cuba there is a blossoming shrub whose multitudinous crimson flowers are so seductive to the hummingbirds that they hover all day around it, buried in its blossoms until petal and wing seem one. At first upright, the gorgeous bells droop downward, and fall unwithered to the ground, and are thence called by the Creoles Cupid's Tears. Fredrika Bremer relates that daily she brought home handfuls of these blossoms to her chamber, and nightly they all disappeared. One morning she looked toward the wall of the apartment, and there, in a long crimson line, the delicate flowers went ascending one by one to the ceiling, and passed from sight. She found that each was borne laboriously onward by a little, colorless ant much smaller than itself: the bearer was invisible, but the lovely burdens festooned the wall with beauty. To a watcher from the sky, the march of the flowers of any zone across the year would seem as beautiful as that West-Indian pagea