So After Futile Attempts To Call The Other Two Back, We
Go On Down The S.E. One, And Get
Shortly into a plantation of giant
kokos mid-leg deep in most excellent fine mould - the sort of stuff
you
Pay 6 shillings a load for in England to start a conservatory
bed with. Upon my word, the quantities of things there are left
loose in Africa, that ought to be kept in menageries and greenhouses
and not let go wild about the country, are enough to try a Saint.
We then pass through a clump of those lovely great tree-ferns. The
way their young fronds come up with a graceful curl, like the top of
a bishop's staff, is a poem; but being at present fractious, I will
observe that they are covered with horrid spines, as most young
vegetables are in Africa. But talking about spines, I should remark
that nothing save that precious climbing palm - I never like to say
what I feel about climbing palms, because one once saved my life -
equals the strong bush rope which abounds here. It is covered with
short, strong, curved thorns. It creeps along concealed by
decorative vegetation, and you get your legs twined in it, and of
course injured. It festoons itself from tree to tree, and when your
mind is set on other things, catches you under the chin, and gives
you the appearance of having made a determined but ineffectual
attempt to cut your throat with a saw.
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