160 JUNGLE PEACE 



leaves. Illusion upon illusion: these were not 

 wilted, but newborn leaves which thus in their 

 spring glory rivaled our autumnal tints. One 

 never forgot the day when the first mora burst 

 into full bloom a great mound of lavender pig- 

 ment, swung nearly two hundred feet in mid- 

 air, dominating all the surrounding jungle 

 growth. This was the lush, prodigal way in 

 which the tropics announced spring. 



Whether I had spent the day in hard tramp- 

 ing or stalking in the jungle, or at my labora- 

 tory table trying to disentangle the whys and 

 wherefores from the physical skein of my speci- 

 mens, toward sunset I always went down to 

 the cement floor of an orchid-house long fallen 

 in decay. This was under the open sky, and 

 from this spot on the highest hilltop in all this 

 region, I watched the end of the day. 



No sunset should ever be described, and the 

 Kalacoon sunsets were too wonderful for aught 

 but wordless reverence. They were explosions 

 of wild glory, palettefuls of unheard-of pig- 

 ments splashed across the sky, and most be- 

 wildering because they were chiefly in the east 

 or north. This evening on which I write was 

 sealed with a sunset of negligible yellow, but 



