THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE 



the air like an animal. Its roots are like boring, 

 sucking mouths in the depths and the stream of 

 nourishment flows upwards instead of down- 

 wards. The whole story of the conquest of the 

 land by plant life is made evident to the eye in 

 this majestic palm. It reaches out so near to 

 the water edge that the highest spray wets its 

 base. By means of the water it wanders from 

 island to island. It throws its brown cocoa-nuts 

 directly into the waves. A water-proof layer 

 of oil protects the tender germ of life within 

 for it could not exist in the salt, and thus in its 

 air-filled fiber garment it swims as in a little 

 boat. So the currents carry it to another beach, 

 the surf throws it up and the conquest proceeds 

 further: there also after a few years a row of 

 high green palms wave over the lime margin of 

 the sea, protected by this natural break water 

 from the actual mechanical force of the waves 

 and only watered by the damp sea breath. 



When the short twilight of the tropic 

 day has ended in this palm grove, when the 

 sunken sun has been replaced by the mystical 

 light cone of the Zodiac and high in the heavens 

 the star picture of the Southern cross begins to 

 shine mildly — then there creeps out from the 

 holes in the net-work of roots beneath the trees 

 a marvelous gnome population. Like hideous 

 misshapen spiders they go touching around, 

 wiipstling busily with the fallen cocoanuts. They 



