166 THE TROPICAL WORLD. 



or more straight rows. Each of these has generally as many 

 as thirty or more seeds, and each seed weighs at least as much 

 as five or six grains of wheat or barley. Surely a cereal like 

 this deserves beyond all others to symbolise abundance, and, 

 had it been known to the Greeks, it would beyond all doubt 

 have figured conspicuously in the teeming horn of Amalthea^ 



In light sandy soils, under the scorching rays of the sun, and 

 in situations where sufficient moisture cannot be obtained for 

 the production of rice, numerous varieties of millet [Sorghuin 

 vulgare) are successfully cultivated in many tropical countries 

 — in India, Arabia, the West Indies, in Central Africa, and in 

 Nubia, where it is grown almost to the exclusion of every other 

 esculent plant. Though the seeds are by much the smallest of 

 any of the cereal plants, the number borne upon each stalk is 

 so great as to counterbalance this disadvantage, and to render 

 the cultivation of millet as productive as that of any other 

 grain. 



The bread-fruit tree is the g"reat gift of Providence to the 

 fairest isles of Polynesia. No fruit or forest tree in the north 

 of Europe, with the exception of the oak or linden, is its equal 

 in regularity of growth and comeliness of shape ; it far surpasses 

 the wild chestnut, which somewhat resembles it in appearance. 

 Its large oblong leaves are deeply lobed like those of the fig-tree, 

 which they resemble not only in colour and consistence, but also 

 in exuding a milky juice when broken. About the time when 

 the sun, advancing towards the Tropic of Capricorn, announces 

 to the Tahitians that summer is approaching, it begins to 

 produce new leaves and yoimg fruits, which commence ripen- 

 ing in October, and may be plucked about eight months long- 

 in luxuriant succession. The fruit is about the size and shape 

 of a new-born infant's head, with a thin skin, and a core 

 about as big as the handle of a small knife. The edible part, 

 which lies between the skin and the core, and is as white as 

 snow, must be roasted before it is eaten ; its taste is insipid, with 

 a slight sweetness, somewhat resembling that of the crumb of 

 wheaten bread mixed with boiled potatoes. When the season 

 draws to an end, the last fruits are laid in heaps, and closely 

 covered with leaves. In this state they undergo a fermentation 

 and become disagreeably sweet; the core is then taken out 

 entire, which is done by gently pulling out the stalk, and the 



