are in full bloom
nothing can exceed their beauty or fragrance, the branches looking
as if frosted with snow, while the air is filled with the delicate
perfume. But the scene is brief as enchanting: the flowers fade a few
hours after they are full blown, to be succeeded by tiny berries that
are at first green, then a yellowish red, and finally ripen into a
rich crimson or purple; after which, unless gathered at once, they
shrivel and drop from the tree. This is about seven months after the
blooms make their appearance. The pulp is torn off and separated
from the seeds by means of a machine, and the grains, after being
thoroughly washed, are dried in the sun and put up in bags. Chek
Kongtwau, the Chinese proprietor of the plantation, not only walked
with us over his grounds, and answered all our questions with
exemplary patience, but insisted that we should go into the house, be
presented to his wife and partake of a lunch. He regaled us with tea
and coffee of his own growing and curing, excellent turtle steaks,
boiled rice, and curry made of shrimps and cucumbers stewed together.
For vegetables there were the Malay lobak, a tender white radish, and
the cocoa-nut bud stewed in the milk of the ripe fruit; and as dessert
we had placed before us, for the first time, the far-famed durian, so
universal a favorite among Orientals as to command a higher price than
any other fruit in market, yet so abominably disgusting in smell that
the olfactories of few strangers can tolerate its approach. To me the
odor seemed precisely that supposed to be produced by the admixture of
garlic and assafoetida; and as a plate piled with the rich golden pulp
was placed before me by our hostess, I came so near fainting as to be
compelled to seek the open air. The old Chinaman followed me, and
when he had learned the cause of my indisposition, laughed heartily,
saying, "Wait a year or two. You have not been in the country long
enough to appreciate this rare luxury. But when you have become
initiated into a knowledge of its surpassing excellences, never an
orange, pineapple or other fruit will you touch when a durian can be
had."

Just as we were re-entering our palanquins, Chek Kongtwau inquired
whether we had yet seen the anoo palm or sago tree, of which he said
there was but a solitary specimen in the island, most of the sago
manufactured at Singapore being brought in its crude state from the
swamps of Sumatra. He told us the famous tree was s