Creeper." Some have flowers of snowy hue, with a delicate fragrance; and one, breathing after sunset, the odour of cloves!
The doodēya[1], so called because it gives forth a milky juice, also denominated chābuk churree, from the resemblance of its long slender shoots to a whip, displayed over the bower its beautiful and bell-shaped flowers; it also bears the name of swallow-wort, from the fancied resemblance of its seed-vessels to a swallow flying.
In wondrous profusion, the gāo-pāt, the elephant climber, spread its enormous leaves over the bower; the under part of the leaf is white, and soft as velvet; the natives say it is like the tongue of a cow, whence it derives its name gāo-pāt[2]. In the early morning, or at sunset, it was delightful to watch the humming-birds as they fluttered over and dived into its bell-shaped flowers, seeking nectar; or to see them glancing over the crimson stars of the ishk-pechā. The bower was the favourite resort of the most beautiful butterflies,—those insect queens of Eastern Spring,—not only for the sake of the climbers, but for the blossoms of the Lucerne grass that grew around the spot. Observing one day there were but few butterflies, I asked the reason of the jāmadār? he replied, "The want of rain has killed the flowers, and the death of the flowers has killed the butterflies."
From the topmost branches of the surrounding trees, the moon-flower[3] hung its chaste and delicate blossoms, drooping and apparently withered; but as the night came on they raised their languid heads, and bloomed in beauty.
"The Nymphæa[4] dwells in the water, and the moon in the sky, but he that resides in the heart of another is always present with him[5]." The Nymphæa expands its flowers in the night, and thence is feigned to be in love with the moon. The water-*
