Tropic Days | Page 6

though
lacking the organ of brain, are subject to aberrations of foliage almost
as fantastical as the mental bent which in man is displayed by the
sticking of straws in the hair. "Phyllomania" is the recognised term for
this waywardness. One of the trees of this locality, the raroo (CAREYA
AUSTRALIS), seems singularly prone to the infirmity, for without
apparent cause it abandons habitual ways and clothes its trunk and
branches with huge rosettes of small, slight, and ineffective leaves,
evidence, probably, of vital degeneration.
Among the beautiful trees of this Island there is one,
PITHECOLOBIUM PRUINOSUM, possessing features of attraction
during successive phases of growth. The young branches, foliage, and
inflorescence, are coated with minute silky hair, as if dusted with
bronze of golden tint. The dense, light, semi-drooping foliage produces

a cloud-like effect, to which the great masses of buff flowers add a
delightful fleeciness, while the ripe pods, much twisted and involved
(to carry similitude as far as it may), might be likened to dull lightning
in thunderous vapour. The tree flourishes in almost pure sand within a
few yards of salt water, and, being hardy and of clean habit, might well
be used decoratively.
Standing with its feet awash at high tide, the huge fig-tree began life as
a parasite, the seed planted by a beak-cleaning bird in a crevice of the
bark of its forerunner. In time the host disappeared, embraced and
absorbed. Now the tree is a sturdy host. Another fig envelops some of
its branches, two umbrella-trees cling stubbornly to its sides, a
pandanus palm grows comfortably at the base of a limb, tons of
staghorn, bird's-nest, polypodium, and other epiphytal ferns, have
licence to flourish, orchids hang decoratively, and several shrubs spring
aspiringly among its roots. But the big tree still asserts its individuality.
It is the host, the others merely dependents or tenants. Most of the
functions of the tree are associated with the sea. Twice a year it studs
its branches with pink fruit, food for many weeks for a carnival of birds,
the relics of the feast dully carpeting the sand. Before the first fruiting
the old leaves fall, and for a brief interval the shadows of branches and
twigs, intricate, involved, erratic, might be likened to unschooled
scribblings, with here a flourish and there a blot and many a boisterous
smudge. Soon--it is merely a question of days--the swelling buds
displace millions of leaf-sheaves, pale green and fragile, which fall and,
curling in on themselves, redden, and again the yellow sand is littered,
while overhead fresh foliage, changing rapidly from golden, glistening
brown to rich dark green, makes one compact blotch. And when the
wind torments sea and forest, and branches bend and sway, and
creepers drift before it, the white blooms of the orchids, so light and
delicate that a sigh agitates them, might be "foam flakes torn from the
fringe of spray" and tossed aloft.
The technical description of a fairly common tree--IXORA
TIMORENSIS--is silent on a quality that appeals to the unversed
admirer almost as strongly as the handsome flowers, which occur in
large, loose panicles at the terminals of the branches. Boldly exposed,
the white flowers as they lose primal freshness change to cream, but
last for several weeks. The omitted compliment from formal records is

the singular fragrance of the flowers--strong, sweet, and enticing,
though with a drug-like savour, as if rather an artificial addition than a
provision of Nature. During December the perfume hangs heavily
about the trees, being specially virile in the cool of evening and
morning. Being confined to the tropical coast, away from the centres of
population, and flowering at a season when visitors avoid the north, the
scented Ixora has so far remained uncommended. Those who are
familiar with it in its native scene dwell on its unique excellence, and
are proud to reflect that when a comprehensive catalogue of the
flowering and perfumed plants of Australia comes to be compiled it
will stand high in order of merit, being unique and characteristic of the
richness of that part of the continent in which it exists naturally.
Twice during lengthy intervals have I been perturbed by the conduct of
the sea-swallows (terns) which breed in this neighbourhood. They
select for their nurseries coral banks, depositing large numbers of eggs
beyond the limit of high tides. In obedience to some law, the joyful
white birds began to lay in September, five or six weeks earlier than
usual. It seemed to be a half-hearted effort to maintain the strength of
the colony, the unanimous and general purpose being postponed for
three months, when numerous clutches and marvellously variegated
eggs embellished the coral. But that which was a perfectly safe and
wise undertaking in September was a foolish and dangerous experiment
in December.