Reminiscences of a Field Collector.



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the way islet at a sea-bird rookery. Then your nerves tingle from

head to foot in an ecstasy of extreme delight while hundreds of wild

birds, on shivering wings, are screeching overhead, and you see

mottled and curiously marked eggs amongst grass, succulent ice-

plant, or on the bare sand, as the case may be, in numbers dotting

the landscape.


Another indelible memory was a scene I witnessed only last

year, when, with a genial companion, I visited a Swiftlet cave on a

verdure-clad islet—a secluded spot set in a blue sheet of coral sea.

It was the most splendid of serene summer days, and the place the

most picturesque that one could imagine. Bean-trees wreathed

with rosy flowers, and umbrella trees and palms, reared their

graceful forms above luxuriant shrubs. Underneath were rich,

rocky galleries of native gardens where grew great patches of an

ornamental polypodium, bearing brownish, flat, embroidered fronds.

Here and there, on tree or stone, were orchids conspicuous with

bowing heads of bottle-brush-like flowers— i.e. composed of clusters

of tubular flowerets of waxy appearance, variegated crimson, green,

and white (Dendrobium Smillice, von Mueller). From the dazzling

sunlight we entered the deep shade of a canopy scrub, then a gloomy

cavern, where between 50 and 60 Swiftlets’ nests could just be

discerned attached to the roof. A score of nests contained each a

single pure white egg. Closer examination by the aid of a pocket

electric lantern showed the nests in groups, distant from the floor

from 4 feet up to about 7 feet. Some nests were adjoining, so that

tails of the tiny brooding birds overlapped. The nests were spoon¬

shaped, about 2^ inches in diameter, with a short handle-like

appendage cemented to the rock, and were composed of shreds of

grass, moss, &c., intermixed with a kind of gluten. The little birds

on being disturbed, flew quietly, save for a few feeble notes, like

fairy forms about the cave, or in and out, there being more than a

single entrance.


In concluding this brief sketch of some of my reminiscences,

I must say that “ the lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places.”

I have often thanked the Almighty for my being and for the wonder

of His works.



