is parenthesis about the plantations, which are now spreading
far and wide over the forest (the wood-cutter's hatchet continually
clearing new tracts of land for agricultural enterprises), I want you to
return with me to the jungle which is still almost untrodden and where
Nature reigns supreme over the thick tropical vegetation.

Having already spoken briefly and in a disorderly way of the riches
which are here gratuitously offered--not the riches of Midas and
Pymalion, because mother Nature does not refuse food to her children
even if they are profaners of that wonderful temple of her fecundity--it
is right that I should now draw your attention to two great friends of
travellers in the forest. One is the bamboo and the other a creeper
called the "water vine".

The bamboo, known to us only as one of the plants least considered in a
large, well-kept garden, or as a polished walking stick, as the legs of
a fancy table of uncertain equilibrium or as a tobacco box ably worked
by Chinese or Japanese fingers, in the free forest becomes a colossal
inhabitant. Its canes, at first tender and supple, grow to such a size,
and so strong as to be used for water conduits. It is a vigorous and
invasive plant that covers the surrounding ground with new shoots
whilst in under its long roots spread out and suck up all the vital
nutriment to be found in the earth around.

To one who lives in the forest, the bamboo is as necessary as food
itself. It provides light, solid huts; it makes the blowpipe, arrow and
quiver; it serves for carrying water and preserving fruit; it forms a
safe recipient for poisonous juices; it is bottle and glass, and finally
supplies the native cooks with a saucepan that only they can use because
they have the knack of cooking their food without burning the bamboo. I
have often tried to do the same but the result has always been that pot
and pottage have been burnt together.

The bamboo has also a secret virtue of incalculable value to the thirsty
wayfarer, overcome by the heat of a tropical sun: it is a perfect
reservoir of water.

By boring a hole just under the joints of each cane more than half a
litre of clear water, not very fresh, but wholesome and good, gushes
out. It is rather bitter to the taste and serves to restore one's forces
as well as to quench one's thirst.

The water-vine also acts as a Samaritan in the jungle. Like all the
others of its sort this climbing plant closes some giant king of th