RAMBLES AMONG THE FRUITS AND FLOWERS OF THE TROPICS.
[!-- H2 anchor --] TWO PAPERS.—I.
"Well, Abdallah, what have you in view that can tempt one to a ramble on such a breezeless morning as this?" was my question of the turbaned exquisite who had just presented himself on the balcony where we sat at sunrise inhaling the fragrant breath of a thousand flowers. We were at Singapore, that little ocean gem at the foot of the Malayan peninsula, where, fair as a pearl, she nestles in the crested coronet of the deep blue sea. The whole island is but twenty-seven miles long, with a width varying from three to twelve; but in no other area of such limited dimensions can the tourist find so much of enchanting beauty and picturesqueness, or such a variety of tropical products, as in this "garden of the East." Without mountains, but with its central peak of Bookit Timá rising about six hundred feet above the sea, the scenery is diversified with richly-wooded hills, evergreen dales, and luxuriant jungle-growth drooping over and reflecting its graceful fringes in many a little babbling brook. The fruits of the island are varied and luscious, the foliage perennial, and its myriads of flowers so gorgeously tinted, so redolent of balmy odors, that one is fairly bewildered with the superabundance of sweets. Of course we were nothing loath to tarry a few weeks on this fairy isle, and we gladly availed ourselves of the opportunity thus afforded to enrich our herbariums and sketchbooks with new specimens by making occasional excursions to the jungles, and now and then a picnic to some of the thirty smaller islands that surround Singapore. But as the foreign tourist in those enervating tropical regions is not slow to acquire the Oriental love of ease and inveterate aversion to fatigue even in pleasure-seeking, we usually left our Mussulman comprador to seek out objects of interest and report to us beforehand, thus saving us from the weariness of many a bootless expedition, and catering to the precise tastes and desires of each of us in the way of adding to our treasures.
On the morning in question Abdallah had just brought in the invariable morning coffee, served in the purest and tiniest of porcelain cups; and while we listlessly sipped the fragrant Mocha he seemed scanning our faces with more than usual interest, evidently expecting just such a question as I had asked. What a picture he was as he stood there in flowing robes and huge turban, with his jet black moustache and bronze-brown complexion, one small hand placed over the heart in token of his absolute devotion to the foreign sahibs, and his lithe, supple form leaning forward in the most obsequious attitude imaginable! His answer was characteristic:
"Well, Madam Sahib, I find much beautiful flower, but not all where lady sahib can go, unless she can ride in sampán. Some roads too small for palanquin, and lady sahib's satin slipper must not be soiled with dust or mud. But I engage one big sampán with six men to pull, and, if the foreign sahibs all please, we make one grand picnic to Pulo Nánas (Pineapple Island) and Pulo Panjan. They can ride first to where boat is waiting, visit Pulo Nánas, take breakfast under orange tree, see much fine fruit trees, and then go to Pulo Panjan, where I gave orders for dinner to be served for the sahibs."
"But pray tell us who is to serve it," laughingly responded one of our party. "Are we to have monkeys or wild squirrels for caterers? It must be one or the other, as I am sure I have been informed that neither of those islands are inhabited by human beings."
"No man there, true, sahib," was our Mussulman's ready rejoinder. "But I send small boat with two men to pull, and two cooks, with rice, fowls, and everything wanted for breakfast and dinner. I believe they already at Pulo Nánas, cooking breakfast; the palanquins are also at the door; and so, if it be the sahibs' pleasure, it is better to start before the sun gets very high."
All this certainly promised well for us pleasure-seekers, and was no doubt quite as satisfactory an arrangement for our scheming comprador, who always took care to add to every charge a very liberal commission for his own valuable services. We well knew that he was cheating us on a grand scale, but of what avail was such knowledge? We should gain nothing by discharging one who had at least the merit of being good-looking, well-mannered and pleasant-speaking, only to engage another less civil and probably no more honest. And in India all disbursements for personal and household expenses are made through these compradors or stewards—not of necessity, but because it is the custom of the country, and in the East one never rebels against established usage.
Our preparations were soon made: sketchbooks, drawing materials and covered baskets for specimens were transferred to the keeping of our faithful Mussulman, and we set out, anticipating a day of rare enjoyment. We were fortunate in securing the company of Mr. M——, the accomplished president of the Anglo-Chinese College, who had spent some thirty years in Singapore, and was well acquainted with its localities and objects of interest. He was like a complete volume with illustrations on everything pertaining to the East, could answer all manner of unheard-of questions about things that everybody else had forgotten, and had always ready an appropriate anecdote or story just to the point. His very dress was characteristic. It consisted of loose trousers of gray linen, and an old-fashioned white hunting-coat with Quaker collar, and huge pockets that would have answered very well for the saddle-bags of an itinerant surgeon. These were designed as receptacles for such stray "specimens" in botany, geology or conchology as he might chance to discover en route; while thrust into a smaller breast-pocket he carried a brace of huntsman's pistols, with antique powder-horn and shot-pouch slung over the shoulder. His hat was a Panama with low, round crown and a rim nearly as large as an ordinary umbrella. A Chinese youth, an orphan adopted by Mr. M—— years before, accompanied his patron in a full suit of yellow nankin made à la Chinoise, with broad-brimmed straw hat, long, braided queue, and the inevitable Chinese fan. The rest of us donned our white linen "fatigue suits," and leghorn hats of such vast dimensions as bade the wearers have no thought for umbrellas. Thus equipped, we were ready for all sorts of emergencies—climbing rocks, diving into jungles or wading through muddy creeks.
The drive was for the most part through spice plantations and groves of orange and palm, and, without delays, would have brought us in an hour's time to the coast. But we could not consent to press onward to the goal ahead without pausing for at least a glimpse of the many objects of interest on the way. First we strolled over a plantation of black pepper cultivated by Chinamen. The vine is a creeper with a knotty stem that if unpruned will reach the height of near thirty feet, but in order to render the vines more productive they are kept down to about a dozen or fifteen feet, and each is trained over a separate pole or prop. At each joint of the stem the plant puts out its fibrous tendrils, grasping the prop, and so climbing to the top. Whenever a vine happens to trail on the ground these tendrils, like strawberry "runners," shoot into the earth, but then they bear no fruit. The branches are short, brittle and easily broken, the leaves deep-green, heart-shaped and very abundant, and the blossom a cluster of small white flowers, almost destitute of odor. The fruit hangs in long clusters of some forty or fifty grains each, somewhat after the fashion of the wild grape, though much more diminutive in size. Until after it has reached its full size it is green, when at maturity of a bright red, and black only after it has become thoroughly dry. When the berries begin to redden the bunches are gathered and spread upon mats in the sun to dry: then the corns soon wither, turn black and drop from the stems, becoming thus the shriveled black pepper known in commerce. What is known among us as white pepper was formerly supposed to be a different species from the black; but the sole difference is in the curing, that intended for white pepper being placed in baskets under water until sufficiently swollen for the exterior pellicle to rub off by rolling in the hands after being again dried in the sun. The plants are propagated by cuttings, which are generally placed some six feet apart, sometimes being trained over the trunk of an old tree, and at others over a strong stake. The vines commence bearing the third year, and continue to do so for a dozen or more, when they are rooted up, new ones having been previously planted to take their places.
We next called at two gambier plantations, both owned and conducted by Chinamen who came to the island a few years before as common coolies. The gambier (Funis uncatis) was formerly called terra japonica, from being supposed to be an earth and to come from Japan. It is grown on sandy soil or dry hills, and requires very little labor in cultivation. It is a slender-stemmed, vine-like shrub with oval-shaped leaves and pale purplish flowers in clusters. The seeds germinate in forty days, and the seedlings are transplanted when about nine inches high. When full grown they reach a height of ten feet or more, and after the first year the leaves and branches are regularly gathered and prepared for the market. Men and boys were engaged in plucking the leaves and conveying them, in mat-bags suspended on each end of a bamboo staff, to the boiling-ground. Here they were boiled until the water was evaporated, and the inspissated juice deposited, which we afterward saw drying in little squares. It is a powerful astringent, having one-tenth more tannin than any other substance known. It is used by the natives as a dye, also as a salve for wounds and for chewing with betel-nut and tobacco, besides being largely exported to Europe for tanning leather and for dyeing. All through the gambier plantations, and in every department of the labor of preparing it for the boiler, I observed that not a female was to be seen, and on inquiring the reason was gravely told that gambier plants would not flourish if touched by a woman! "Sensitive plants" indeed, so readily to discern the difference between the handling of the two sexes!
Our next call was at a coffee plantation, where we saw sixty thousand young and healthy coffee trees, and two-thirds of them in a bearing condition, yielding in the aggregate not less than fifty thousand pounds of dry coffee per annum. The trees are beautifully formed, and rise naturally to the height of sixteen feet or more, but when under culture are kept at five or six feet for the convenience of collecting the ripe fruit. They are planted in rows, the leaves grow opposite each other, and many sessile flowers are produced at their insertion. The blossoms are pure white, and when the plants are in full bloom nothing can exceed their beauty or fragrance, the branches looking as if frosted with snow, while the air is filled with the delicate perfume. But the scene is brief as enchanting: the flowers fade a few hours after they are full blown, to be succeeded by tiny berries that are at first green, then a yellowish red, and finally ripen into a rich crimson or purple; after which, unless gathered at once, they shrivel and drop from the tree. This is about seven months after the blooms make their appearance. The pulp is torn off and separated from the seeds by means of a machine, and the grains, after being thoroughly washed, are dried in the sun and put up in bags. Chek Kongtwau, the Chinese proprietor of the plantation, not only walked with us over his grounds, and answered all our questions with exemplary patience, but insisted that we should go into the house, be presented to his wife and partake of a lunch. He regaled us with tea and coffee of his own growing and curing, excellent turtle steaks, boiled rice, and curry made of shrimps and cucumbers stewed together. For vegetables there were the Malay lobak, a tender white radish, and the cocoa-nut bud stewed in the milk of the ripe fruit; and as dessert we had placed before us, for the first time, the far-famed durian, so universal a favorite among Orientals as to command a higher price than any other fruit in market, yet so abominably disgusting in smell that the olfactories of few strangers can tolerate its approach. To me the odor seemed precisely that supposed to be produced by the admixture of garlic and assafoetida; and as a plate piled with the rich golden pulp was placed before me by our hostess, I came so near fainting as to be compelled to seek the open air. The old Chinaman followed me, and when he had learned the cause of my indisposition, laughed heartily, saying, "Wait a year or two. You have not been in the country long enough to appreciate this rare luxury. But when you have become initiated into a knowledge of its surpassing excellences, never an orange, pineapple or other fruit will you touch when a durian can be had."
Just as we were re-entering our palanquins, Chek Kongtwau inquired whether we had yet seen the anoo palm or sago tree, of which he said there was but a solitary specimen in the island, most of the sago manufactured at Singapore being brought in its crude state from the swamps of Sumatra. He told us the famous tree was several miles from his house, out of our direct route, but if we had time to visit it he would undertake to guide us safely through the jungle to and from the tree. We found it standing in solitary grandeur in a low swamp, and lifting its long pinnated leaves from the extreme top of a trunk full thirty feet high and twenty-eight inches in diameter. Its general appearance is not unlike the cocoa-nut palm. Our conductor called the sago tree sibla, but the Malays give it the name of rumbiga. They say that each tree, if kept properly pruned down, will produce at least five hundred pounds of pith per annum; but it soon degenerates if suffered to grow to any considerable height. The pith is soaked in large troughs of running water until it dissolves and afterward settles, the sand and heavy dirt sinking beneath it, and the fibres and scum floating on top. After being separated from these impurities the sago is dried, and then granulated by passing it through perforated plates till it becomes smooth and polished like so many pearls, when it is packed in boxes and bags for sale. We did not see the process that day, of course, but afterward at the large factory on the river a few miles above the settlement.
One more plantation, a grove of the stately areca-nut or betel trees, we determined to visit before taking the boat. The smooth road was bordered everywhere with the beautiful melastoma or Singapore rose, of perennial foliage and always in bloom, underneath acacias and palms; and the very earth was carpeted with beauty and fragrance enough to have formed the bridal-couch of a fairy queen. Over such a highway three miles were quickly made, and we alighted at the entrance of a narrow lane that led to the abode of Cassim Mootoo, the Malay owner and cultivator of the betel-nut plantation. At the outer door a stone monster of huge proportions and uncouth features kept guard against the uncanny spirits that are supposed to frequent out-of-the-way lanes and dreary passages. The planter received us pleasantly, accepted our apologies for troubling him, and offered to show us over the grounds. He was far less courtly in manners than the Chinese coffee-cultivator, to whom we should scarcely have ventured to offer a fee, while out of the Malay's cunning eyes there gleamed the evident expectation of a snug bonus of silver rupees, which he received as a matter of course when we bade him adieu, and having counted them over and jingled them for a moment in his fingers, he thrust them into his pouch as he re-entered the house.
We found the areca trees planted in rows, and growing to the height of some forty feet, with straight, branchless trunks, terminated at the top with ten or twelve pinnated leaves, each of which is full five feet long. The fruit grows in clusters immediately below the tuft of leaves. The outer shell is of a bright golden hue, that gradually deepens to crimson as the fruit matures, and when opened shows a brown, astringent nut about the size of a nutmeg. This is the portion chewed with chunám and tobacco all over the East; and its use is so universal that one seldom meets a man, woman or child of any Oriental nation whose mouth is not filled, always and everywhere, with the execrable mixture. Pepper leaves are sprinkled with chunám (lime) and rolled up: a slice of betel-nut with a quid of tobacco is placed in the mouth first, and then the rolled-up leaf is bitten off, and all masticated together. When a visitor calls the betel-box is immediately passed to him; and as in regard to the eating of salt in Western Asia, so, in the eastern and southern portions, those who have once partaken of betel-nut together are ever after sworn to faithful and undying friendship. The use of the areca-nut preserves the teeth from decay, but keeps them stained of a disgusting brick-red color.
On the outer edge of Cassim's plantation, where the soil was damp, we noticed several long rows of the nepah palm, generally known as attap, and extensively used for thatching houses in the East. It has the same huge pinnated leaves as most of the other palms, but is destitute of the long straight trunk, the leaves commencing from near the root, and the entire height being seldom more than twelve or fourteen feet. We saw also a few specimens of the hutan, a strange-looking palmate shrub with leaves fifteen feet long, which are generally used by the Malays for sails, in lieu of canvas, for their piratical proas. But the strangest of all the palms we saw was the talipát, so called from the Bali word talipoin, a priest; and the name was originally derived from the fact that the sacred fans used by Booddhist priests in their religious ceremonies are formed of its leaves. This fan is a prescribed item of clerical costume, and no conscientious Booddhist priest ever appears without this long-handled fan held directly in front of his face, to prevent the sacred countenance from coming in contact with anything unclean. The sacred books of the Booddhists and Brahmins are also written on the talipát palm leaves, as are many of their historical records and scientific works. This mammoth tree sometimes reaches the height of nearly two hundred feet, and its trunk the circumference of twelve feet. It lives to the age of nearly a century, but blossoms only a single time; during the whole period of its existence. The flower, some thirty feet in length, bursts with a loud explosion at maturity, and in dying scatters the seeds that are to produce the next generation of trees. A single leaf will sometimes measure forty feet in circumference; and it is no unusual sight on the Malabar coast, where storms are so fierce and sudden, to see ten or fifteen men finding shelter in a boat over which is spread a single; palm leaf, which effectually shields all from both wind and rain. When the storm has subsided the huge leaf may be folded up like a lady's fan, and is so light as to be readily carried by a man under one arm. The talipát never grows wild, it is said, as do most of the other palms; and it reaches its greatest perfection in the island of Ceylon. All that I ever met with were under cultivation, being tended and nursed with the utmost care. Indeed, half a dozen talipát palm trees are a fortune in themselves, the leaves being very profitable as merchandise, while a crop may be gathered every year during a long life, and then the tree be of sufficient value to be bequeathed to the heirs of the owner.
Bidding adieu to our Malayan host, we once more entered the palanquins, and in a little while were set down on the coast, where lay our sampán with flag hoisted and pennons gayly flaunting in the breeze. First we passed Battu Bliah, "the sailing rock"—so called from its fancied resemblance to a ship under widespread canvas; then around an abrupt projection of Erskine's Hill, in a narrow passage between Singapore and Baltan Máteo, we came in full view of the promontory upon the highest point of which is built the palace-bungalow of the old sultan-rajah who held sway over the island previous to its purchase by Sir Stamford Raffles for the British government, in 1819. The old rajah has passed away, but the bungalow is still occupied by his son, a pensioner on the English Crown, and one of the most daring pirates in all that region—successful enough to have achieved a fame for prowess, but too crafty ever to be caught.
At Pulo Nánas, where we were to lunch, we found the cloth was already laid on the green grass under the protecting shadow of a huge orange tree, whose ripe golden fruit offered a dainty dessert. We took our seats with the "professor" at the head, and were soon discussing the merits of boiled chicken, fried fish, omelette, oysters, turtle eggs and sundry fruits and confections with the zest created by seven hours of active exercise in the open air. Then came the reaction, inclining every one more to repose than research, and the hours would probably have been dreamed away barren of adventures, had it not been for our indomitable professor. We had missed him but a moment, when suddenly he reappeared, holding at arm's length what seemed in the distance about a dozen brown, scaly snakes a yard long, all strung together. Simultaneously the entire company sprang to their feet and started for a race as this regiment of frightful reptiles was thrust into their midst by the radiant "dominie," whose face was fairly aglow with mischief. "Where did they come from? What are you going to do with them?" exclaimed everybody at once, turning to look at the monsters as they lay passive and motionless where the professor had thrown them. "Give them to Saint Patrick, to keep company with those he drove out of the Emerald Isle; or we'll have them for dinner if you prefer," was the laughing response. Reassured by the non-combatant air of the dreaded reptiles, we ventured a nearer approach, and our astonishment may readily be imagined when we found not snakes, but simply a cluster of the pendent blossoms of the rattan tree (Arundo bambos), one of the strangest of all the floral products of the tropics. They hang from the tree in clusters usually of ten or twelve, each a yard or more in length, looking like a soldier's aigrettes suspended among the green leaves, or perhaps still more like a string of chestnut-colored scales threaded through the centre. Waving to and fro in the summer breeze, as I afterward saw them, intertwined with the graceful tendrils of the beautiful passion-flower with its rare feathery chalice of purple and gold, and flanked on every side by ferns of exquisite symmetry, reflecting their dainty fringes in the clear waters, the tout ensemble is one of radiant loveliness, seemingly too fair to be hidden away among lonely jungles.
Consigning our newly acquired treasure to the keeping of the comprador, we sauntered forth in search of other discoveries, and were richly rewarded by finding several perfect specimens of the monkey-cup or pitcher-plant (Nepenthes distillatoria). This plant is found in moist places, such as are suited to the growth of ferns, mangroves and palmate shrubs. It has pendent from each leaf a natural pitcher or elongated cup, growing perfectly upright and capable of holding a pint or more of liquid. It is provided also with a natural cover, which when closed prevents the ingress of leaves or rubbish falling from other trees. The most curious circumstance connected with this strange plant is, that it is nearly always found full of pure, sparkling water, and that the lid closes of itself as soon as the receptacle is full, and opens whenever it is empty. The water is thus protected from dust, and kept always fit for the use of thirsty travelers, as well as of the immense troops of monkeys that inhabit tropical jungles. When the dainty cup has been drained of its refreshing contents, this wonderful little plant again throws wide the portals of its exhausted receptacle for the free entrance of rain or dew. Another plant, one we had often heard of, and sought for without success, the so-called oyster tree, was found, and proved to be nothing very wonderful after all. It is simply an ordinary oyster or other shell-fish, that, tired of lying in the mud, concludes by way of variety to try swinging in the air for a while, and so fastens itself to the long, pendent branches of the mangroves that grow luxuriantly on the shores of most tropical islands.
There seeming to be no more objects of interest to detain us at Pulo Nánas, and our chuliahs having already gone on to prepare dinner at Pulo Panjan, we rallied our forces and followed suit. It was already four o'clock, and so near the equinoctial line, where there is no twilight, it is dark soon after six; but then Pulo Panjan was on our route homeward, and we should have time at least to dine and gather some of the beautiful flowers for which the island is famous, as well as to taste the white pineapple, a rare and exquisite variety that grows here in great abundance. Both rind and pulp are of a pale straw-color; hence the name, to distinguish this species from the ordinary golden-colored fruit, which is far inferior to the white. Those we obtained were magnificent specimens—large and juicy, with a flavor to tempt the appetite of the veriest epicure. Abdallah peeled them in such a way as to remove the bur entire, and brought them to our grassy "board" on pure white porcelain plates garnished with wreaths of fragrant flowers. Never were the gods feasted on nectar and ambrosia more divinely luscious than the white pines and golden mangoes, the rich juicy grapes and sparkling sherbet, with which we were regaled on that bright summer eve at the base of the old flagstaff towering above our heads.
We had not much time for roaming, but gathered whole handfuls of the lotus or water-lily, with its pale-blue, golden or rose-tinted blooms gleaming up from the sparkling waters like the fabled charms of mermaid or sea-nymph. There are many varieties of this exquisite flower—blue, pink, carnation, bright yellow, royal purple fringed with gold, and, more beautiful than all, pure, virgin white, with the faintest possible rose tinge in the centre of each section of the corolla, a just perceptible blush, as of its own conscious loveliness. This last variety is the royal flower of Siam: it is borne before the king at weddings, funerals and all state festivals, and the royal reception-rooms are always beautifully decorated with the young buds arranged in costly vases of exquisite workmanship. The costly silk and lace canopies over the cradles of the infants of the king's family are also made in the form of a lotus reversed; and it is said that in cases of fever or eruptive diseases the leaves of the fresh lotus are spread over the royal couches, as being not only sanitary, but more agreeable to the invalid than the ordinary linen or silk bedding. Guided by the rare rich perfume of its waxen buds, we found a choice specimen of the bride-like moon-creeper, and bore if off, vine, blooms and all, to a place among the floral adornments of our own home.
We reached home at eight o'clock, after a cruise, by sea and by land, of thirteen hours; but the day had been so replete with enjoyment that we scarcely felt conscious of fatigue, and were off again the next morning, soon after sun-rise, for a ride to Bookit Timá ("hill of tin"), the central and loftiest peak of Singapore Island. It is nine miles from the city, with a smooth road to the very summit, so that we might go either in pony palanquins or on horseback. We chose the latter, as affording us better opportunity for observation and the collection of "specimens," and, as we could readily gain the mountain-top in season for a nine o'clock breakfast, the heat would not be oppressive. Abdallah despatched the chuliahs, each with a stout load of provisions, table-ware and cooking-utensils, at dawn, and when we arrived our déjeuner was ready to be served. The viands were tempting and the cookery faultless, but we could scarce do justice to either, so eager were we to begin our explorations on the summit and sides of this beautiful hill, or rather hills, for there are twin peaks closely connected, and each presenting an enchanting view of verdant fields and fertile valleys, of the neighboring city, the wide expanse of blue waters beyond, and the shipping in the harbor. Having satisfied ourselves with gazing at the distant prospect, we began to descend in search of adventures, sending our ponies ahead to await us at the base of the mountain, where we were to dine. Onward we strolled, gradually descending, every step marked by novelties—flowers, grasses, weeds and shrubs vieing with each other in varied and glad-some beauty. At length we sat down to rest beneath a huge bombax or cotton tree (Bombax ceiba), its widespread branches and thick foliage shielding us effectually from the noonday sun, a fragrant blossom falling occasionally into our laps or pelting us over head and shoulders, while with every passing zephyr the fleecy down from the ripe bolls floated hither and thither, looking for all the world like a snow-storm, except that the sun was shining luminously in the clear heavens. This tree must have been sixty feet in height, a grand, noble type of a green old age after scores of years well and usefully spent, still vigorous and productive. We met specimens afterward even taller and larger than this, and they are said sometimes to reach the height of a hundred feet. The timber is light and porous, and is in great demand for boats. Lower down, the various palms, especially the cocoa-nut and cabbage, were all about us. The former is found in nearly every tropical clime, and is of all trees the one most indispensable to the East Indian, furnishing him with meat, drink, medicine, clothing, lodging and fuel. The ripe kernel of the nut, besides being eaten, has expressed from it an excellent oil, that feeds all the lamps in an Oriental house, supplies the table with a most palatable substitute for butter, and the belle with a choice article of perfumery; the green nut affords a delicious beverage to the thirsty traveler; the fibrous covering of the nut is readily converted into strong and durable cordage, and the polished shells into drinking-cups, ladles and spoons; the leaves are frequently used for thatch, the wood for lathing and musical instruments, and the sap for toddy, an intoxicating drink very common in the East. The tree is graceful and pretty, with a tuft of large pinnated leaves at the top, and nestled cosily in their midst are the clusters of fruit. It grows to the height of forty or fifty feet, is long-lived, and bears fruit nearly the whole year round. The cabbage palm is much less common in a wild state, and few planters will take the trouble to cultivate it, since a whole tree must be destroyed to obtain a single dish. The edible part consists of snow-white flakes found just inside the bark near the top of the tree. When stewed in the expressed juice of the cocoa-nut it constitutes one of the most luscious dishes I have ever eaten. The tree is tall and large, and the pinnated leaves very long.
In the moist portions of the jungle toward the foot of the hill were whole groves of the fragrant pandanus, ferns of infinite variety, and a species of wild mignonette with a perfume like that of commingled strawberries and lemon. Now and then we paused beneath the thick green foliage of the Magnolia grandiflora, as it towered in stately grandeur above its sister flowers, acknowledged queen of the parterre, and dispensing with genuine Oriental profusion its rare and delicious perfume. A step farther and our gaze was riveted by the modest purity of the spotless japonica, the fragrant tuberose and Cape jessamine, the graceful passion-flower, with its royal beauty and storied reminiscences, the peerless dauk-málé, fragrant and fair, the Kalla Indica, with its five long petals of heavenly blue, the gold-plant of the Chinese, and crimson boon-gah-riah of the Malays, the last two consecrated symbols in the religious rites of those nations. What a medley of sweets, flaunting their gay colors in the bright tropical sunshine! Then the innumerable company of roses—tea, moss, perpetual, cluster, climbing, variegated, and a score of others—how fair, fresh and fragrant they are, peerless, queen-like still, even amid such a gorgeous array of ripe floral charms! These, and a thousand others for which we have no names in our language, are scattered profusely over those sunny lands of dreamy beauty, vieing with each other in rare, rich perfume, exquisite grace of form and matchless blending of their warm, ripe colors.
The next day we dined at Dr. Almeida's, and in his magnificent garden found several choice specimens of both the Victoria regia and the Rafflesia Arnoldi, the two largest flowers in the world, each bloom measuring two feet in diameter. But the rarest of all the doctor's treasures was the night-blooming cereus. There were six blooms in full maturity—four on one stalk and two on another—creamy, waxen flowers of exquisite form, the leaves of the corolla of a pale golden hue and the petals intensely white. The calyx rises from a long, hollow footstalk, which is formed of rough plates overlapping each other like tiles on a roof. From the centre of this footstalk rises a bundle of filaments that encircle the style, stamens springing also from the insertion of the leaves of the corolla, lining it with delicate beauty and waving their slender forms with exquisite grace. But the real charm of the cereus is its wondrous perfume, exhaled just at night-fall, and readily discernible over the circuit of a mile. The peculiar odor cannot be understood by mere description, but partakes largely of that of sweet lilies, violets, the tuberose and vanilla. After the bud appears the growth is very rapid, often two or three inches a day—that is, in the height of the stalk, the flower expanding proportionately. When fully grown it begins to unfold its charms as the twilight deepens into night, and reaches perfect maturity about an hour before midnight: at three o'clock its glory is already beginning to wane, though scarcely perceptibly; but at dawn it is fading rapidly, and by sun-rise only a wilted, worthless wreck remains, good for nothing but to be "cast out and trodden under foot of men."
FANNIE R. FEUDGE.