A TROPIC GARDEN 231 



the markets, it is often difficult at times to make 

 one's way; but in the gardens a solitary laborer 

 grubs among the roots, a coolie woman swings 

 by with a bundle of grass on her head, or, in the 

 late afternoon, an occasional motor whirrs past. 

 Mankind seems almost an interloper, rather than 

 architect and owner of these wonder-gardens. 

 His presence is due far more often to business, 

 his transit marked by speed, than the slow walk- 

 ing or loitering which real appreciation demands. 

 A guide-book will doubtless give the exact 

 acreage, tell the mileage of excellent roads, re- 

 cord the date of establishment, and the number 

 of species of palms and orchids. But it will have 

 nothing to say of the marvels of the slow decay 

 of a Victoria Regia leaf, or of the spiral descent 

 of a white egret, or of the feelings which Roose- 

 velt and I shared one evening, when four man- 

 atees rose beneath us. It was from a little curved 

 Japanese bridge, and the next morning we were 

 to start up-country to my jungle laboratory. 

 There was not a ripple on the water, but here I 

 chose to stand still and wait. After ten minutes 

 of silence, I put a question and Roosevelt said, 

 "I would willingly stand for two days to catch a 

 good glimpse of a wild manatee." And St. 



