And, children, one more,
Here's a spicy Clove-tree,
Growing forty feet high,
Ornamental, you see;
The little round drop,
Fixed the four prongs between,
Forms the blossom or flower,
When it's not picked too green.
Now list, while I tell you,
Clove-trees will not grow
Except in hot climates,
Moluccas, or so, [{165}] Where they bloom the year round,
In the sunshine or storm,
With their trunks straight and smooth,
And their pyramid form.
And lastly, dear children,
Clove-trees never flower
Till a half-dozen years
They have grown, maybe more;
Then the buds, picked by hand,
And dried quickly, are best;--
Trees a hundred years old
Often yield with the rest.
THE "TREE VILLAGE."
In the Solomon Group in the great Southern Sea,
And on Isabel Island alone,
A tree village is found, up the steep, rocky ground,
On the top of a mountain of stone.
So gigantic the trees that it is not with ease
That the houses of natives are built,
For the stems are six score of our feet, maybe more,
And you'd think they must live on a stilt.
By a ladder facade the ascent must be made,
Formed of pliable trees, or a creeper
Resembling the vine, which the natives entwine,--
And the ladder's drawn up by the sleeper;
For these houses are made but to sleep in, 'tis said,
When some enemy threatens;--to guard
'Gainst surprise in the night, they are fortified quite,
With great stones, to be thrown at a pard.
At the foot, of these trees are the day-huts for ease
And for eating and dancing and play,
Yet the huts up so high have a goodly supply
Of the needful for night or for day.
NO EYES.