318 A DAY IN THE WOODS OF JAMAICA. 



scars of old fallen leaves, set in regular diagonal 

 arrangement, bear at their summit a gracefully swell- 

 ing crown of leaf-bases, which expands into a wide 

 canopy of minutely divided foliage, each frond a fac- 

 simile of one of our familiar lady-ferns, or shield-ferns, 

 or brakes, immensely developed. Other kinds, of 

 somewhat inferior altitude, but of equal expanse, are 

 beset with formidable spines on the upper part of the 

 stem, while the lower part is wholly encased in a 

 coating of wiry rootlets, black, interlaced, and ever 

 wet with the condensed moisture of these humid 

 woods. 



Yes, everything here is saturated with moisture. 

 The air has a warm steamy feel, like that of a wash- 

 house ; you cannot, indeed, see the clouds of vapour, 

 because there is no surrounding cold air to condense 

 it, but you feel it, and breathe it soft, clammy, heavy. 

 The mosses and lycopodiums, when trodden on, are 

 like soaked sponges ; streamlets trickle down the rough 

 trunks, and the great hollow leaves of the arums and 

 caladiums hold water in their hollows, not only in 

 silvery globules, but in cupfuls, clear and sparkling. 

 The sheathing bases of the wild pines that grow 

 everywhere upon these tree-stems are reservoirs of 

 water, in whose genial depths the great painted Tree- 

 toads lie all day, bathing their naked limbs, and from 

 whence they utter those startling shrieks, or moan- 

 ing, gurgling objurgations, which by night terrify 

 the superstitious vulgar with visions of the dreaded 

 Duppy. 



