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, 
“¥ would willingly stand for two days to catch a 
good glimpse of a wild manatee.” And St. 
