156 IN THE GUIANA FOREST. 



whose parents have also apparently strained every 

 effort and spent their strength for naught. 



Poor little creatures, how pitiful it seems that 

 they should die in infancy ! We see them every- 

 where in the forest. Here is a great heap of seeds, 

 every one with its white cotyledons pushing 

 through the smooth brown coat, which has been 

 its swaddling cloth for a few weeks or months. 

 Rain has fallen and caused the germs to swell, and 

 now the little ones are beginning to look around 

 them and strain for the light as their fathers have 

 done. But what is the use ? Here they are in this 

 dark cave, and not a single ray of the glorious tropi- 

 cal sun can reach them. The cotyledons push out 

 and remain colourless, or perhaps a leaf or two may 

 be produced on a long, weak stalk, but without light 

 they can do nothing. One after another withers 

 and dies, and the next dry season finishes off the 

 whole. Perhaps a few favoured ones may have 

 gone a little farther. The place where they were 

 carried by some running stream is not quite so 

 gloomy as the recesses of the forest. A hundred 

 little trees have gained a footing and are now 

 making every possible effort to get upwards. Here 

 they are, as close together as they can pack, long 

 slender stems, no bigger than your finger, the tall- 

 est twenty feet high. The struggle has commenced 



