here is no branch or leaf except at the very
tip of the trunk, where a symmetrical and gigantic bouquet of leaves
appears, having plumes a dozen feet long or more, that nod with every
zephyr and in storms sway and lash the tree as if they were living
things.

I used to wonder why these great leaves, the sport of the idlest
breeze as well as the fiercest gale, were not torn from the tree,
but when I learned to know the cocoanut palm as a dear friend I
found that nature had provided for its survival on the wind-swept
beaches with the same exquisite attention to individual need that is
shown in the electric batteries and lights of certain fishes, or in
the caprification of the fig. A very fine, but strong, matting,
attached to the bark beneath the stalk, fastened half way around the
tree and reaching three feet up the leaf, fixes it firmly to the
trunk but gives it ample freedom to move. It is a natural brace,
pliable and elastic.

There is scarcely a need of the islander not supplied by these
amiable trees. Their wood makes the best spars, furnishes rafters
and pillars for native houses, the knee- and head-rests of their beds,
rollers for the big canoes or whale-boats, fences against wild pig,
and fuel. The leaves make screens and roofs of dwellings, baskets,
and coverings, and in the pagan temples of Tahiti were the rosaries
or prayer-counters, while on their stiff stalks the candlenuts are
strung to give light for feasts or for feasting. When the tree is
young the network that holds the leaves is a beautiful silver, as
fine as India paper and glossy; narrow strips of it are used as hair
ornaments and contrast charmingly with the black and shining locks
of the girls. When older, this matting has every appearance of
coarse cotton cloth, and is used to wrap food, or is made into bags
and even rough garments, specially for fishermen.

The white flowers are small and grow along a branching stalk,
protected by a sheath, and just above the commencement of the leaf.
From them is made the cocoanut-brandy that enables the native to
forget his sorrows. Flowers and nuts in every stage of development
are on the same tree, a year elapsing between the first blossom and
the ripe nut. Long before it is ripe, but after full size has been
attained, the nut contains a pint or even a quart of delicious juice,
called milk, water, or wine, in different languages. It is clear as
spring water, of a delicate acidity, yet sweet, and no idea o