60 
BIN SALEH’S — NDTMEG WOODS. 
an Arab, whose cases of paradise and other gay 
birds' skins from New Guinea and other islands 
of the archipelago, ready for despatch to the 
Paris markets, were a great attraction. He in- 
vited us into his inner room, where he showed 
us a small bunch of tortoise-shell, for which he 
said he could readily get £50 in Singapore. In 
his back-court is an Arab school, and I was 
allowed to look in on the company of little 
fellows, who were squatted round their teacher, 
and whose sing-song, simultaneous repetition of 
their lesson resounded through the neighbour- 
hood. 
Starting with the sun one morning, we climbed 
the slope to the left by a path overhung with 
gracefully bending bamboos and overgrown with 
ly copods, which leads into the nutmeg woods. 
The nutmeg-trees are rather sparsely planted, 
and form a thin grove under a canopy of tall 
kanarie - trees, which interlace high overhead. 
The paths through the woods arc as wide as a 
carriage-way, and well made. Tired of the ship, 
we wandered on for miles, till we came to one 
of the plantation houses, a small village of build- 
ings, where men, women, and children were em- 
ployed preparing the nuts and mace for export. 
Neither of these products is at all like what w T e 
