ariety of fruit in the Mias district, the small mountains which
rise like islands out of it serving as gardens or plantations of a sort,
where the trees of the uplands are to be found in the very midst of the
swampy plains.

It is a singular and very interesting sight to watch a Mias making his
way leisurely through the forest. He walks deliberately along some of
the larger branches in the semi-erect attitude which the great length
of his arms and the shortness of his legs cause him naturally to assume;
and the disproportion between these limbs is increased by his walking
on his knuckles, not on the palm of the hand, as we should do. He seems
always to choose those branches which intermingle with an adjoining
tree, on approaching which he stretches out his long arms, and seizing
the opposing boughs, grasps them together with both hands, seems to try
their strength, and then deliberately swings himself across to the next
branch, on which he walks along as before. He never jumps or springs,
or even appears to hurry himself, and yet manages to get along almost
as quickly as a person can run through the forest beneath. The long
and powerful arms are of the greatest use to the animal, enabling it
to climb easily up the loftiest trees, to seize fruits and young leaves
from slender boughs which will not bear its weight, and to gather leaves
and branches with which to form its nest. I have already described how
it forms a nest when wounded, but it uses a similar one to sleep on
almost every night. This is placed low down, however, on a small tree
not more than from twenty to fifty feet from the ground, probably
because it is warmer and less exposed to wind than higher up. Each Mias
is said to make a fresh one for himself every night; but I should think
that is hardly probable, or their remains would be much more abundant;
for though I saw several about the coal-mines, there must have been many
Orangs about every day, and in a year their deserted nests would become
very numerous. The Dyaks say that, when it is very wet, the Mias covers
himself over with leaves of pandanus, or large ferns, which has perhaps
led to the story of his making a hut in the trees.

The Orang does not leave his bed until the sun has well risen and has
dried up the dew upon the leaves. He feeds all through the middle of the
day, but seldom returns to the same tree two days running. They do not
seem much alarmed at man, as they often stared down upon me fo