ence. Let him see it climb, walk, build its nest, eat,
and drink, and fight. Let him see the female suckle her
young and carry it astride her hip precisely as do the
Coolie women of Hindostán. Let him witness the humanlike
emotions of affection, satisfaction, pain, and childish
rage. Let him see all this, and then he may feel how
much more potent has been this lesson than all he has
read in pages of abstract ratiocination.” After all, the
Orang-utan is a poor creature, with but an outer resemblance
to the human species. In intelligence he is
not only far below the lowest savage, but even inferior to
the horse or the dog. No amount of teaching will make
the Orang-utan or any other ape practically useful to
man. Do all we can for them in a state of confinement,
they are simply big helpless monkeys to the la s t!
The avifauna of the island is very rich. Its pheasants
rival those of China in beauty. The great hornbills
abound in the fruit groves, and are giants in comparison
with their representatives the toucans of South America.
Here the humming-birds of the new world are amply
representated by the sun-birds. Mound-building megapodia
are common, their earth-works rivalling those of
the termites ; and the edible nest-making swallow works
in its dark cave dwellings to satisfy the epicurean tastes
of those Eastern aldermen, the mandarins of the Celestial
Empire. One peculiar species of kingfisher always makes
its nest in company with that of a colony of wild bees.
Its young may be fed on the young larvae, or perchance
the company of the bees may be courted for the sake
of their protection in the event of the nest being
attacked.
Amongst my own introductions to European gardens is
a singular species of pitcher plant or nepenthes, the urns
of which are armed with two sharp and strong spines
(see p. 341). Its pitchers always contain insects of
various kinds, and I am convinced that the spines are
present to prevent birds and insect-hunting animals such
as the tarsier from removing these insects from the urns.
The stalk of this nepenthes is swollen quite near to the
pitcher in a singular manner, and is there punctured by
a peculiar species of ant, but I could never satisfactorily
account for their presence, unless it be in search of
water.
Beccari, during his travels in Borneo, discovered a
singular plant—Myrmecodia—parasitic on low jungle
trees. Its economy is most interesting. The young
seedlings, when about an inch in height, are punctured or
bitten by an ant, an operation which causes the stem to
become gouty and eventually hollow ; in fact, a natural
living hive in which the ants then shelter themselves.
This is their own gain, and they in turn rush out to
resent any attack which may be made on their living
nest. A case analogous to this of mutual protection is
recorded of an African species of acacia. The most
singular thing in connection with this co-operative affair
is that unless the young seedling plants are bitten in
due course they are said by Beccari to die. I saw this
plant daily for a long period, and often amused myself by