CHAPTER XVIII. GARDENERS 

 WHO PAINT THE LILY 



MY friend J. C. Rodriguez, formerly 

 editor and owner of the leading 

 newspaper in Brazil, has repeat- 

 edly invited us to spend a summer 

 with him in his country. We 

 would go were it not for the fact 

 that, though a millionaire, he does not own an 

 airplane. I should want an airplane at my 

 disposal so as to be able to see the gorgeous 

 flowers of the Brazilian forest. Don't think I 

 am losing my alleged mind. I have never been 

 in Brazil, but after reading Herbert H. Smith's 

 descriptions in his book on that country I have 

 come to the conclusion that the only way to see 

 the floral wonders of a tropical forest is from 

 above. 



The Brazilian forest has a roof garden. "In 

 the thick forest one hardly ever finds a bright 

 flower; certain trees are splendid in their season 

 with yellow or purple or white, but you see 

 nothing of this from below. Strong colors always 

 seek the sunshine," and the sunshine does not 

 penetrate through the densely matted roof of 

 the dark and gloomy forest. Up on that roof 

 you find not only the tree blossoms, but the 

 orchids and other air plants, and a great variety 

 of vegetation which adopts the habit of climbing 

 a hundred or two hundred feet on tree trunks 



