monotonous note wearies the ear, and from hornets and bees of
every description that keep up an incessant hum as they suck Juices from
the plants or dive their antennae into the ripe fruit or perhaps into
some carrion lying near. The bassoon-like sound never ceases a single
instant and tells the listener how innumerable are the populations of
insects which live and generate their sort under the shade of their
jungle retreat. Other inexplicable noises--far off crashes, mysterious
sounds that chill one's veins, howls that make one shiver--for a sole
moment break the noon-day silence. What is their origin? Nobody can say.

* * * * *

The different animal sounds to be heard in the forest follow a rule
which knows no exception.

The day is hailed by a full concert warbled from the throats of
feathered songsters. This morning hymn rises in all its innocent purity
to the skies whilst the fierce protaganists of the past night's bloody
tragedies slink off to their dens and leave the field free to the more
gentle herbivorous animals.

[Illustration: The durian tree.

_p._ 64.]

But at noon, when the sun is casting down its hottest rays upon that
vast emerald palace of life, gay voices are hushed and the forest echoes
only with the drowsy buzzing of insects.

As evening draws near the birds once more begin to chirp and trill, they
salute the setting sun and fly away to rest. Then the monkeys commence
their screeching and chattering and soon after the owls and other night
birds take their turn, making the now dense darkness more terrible with
their harsh, sinister cries. Little by little as the night deepens,
bellows, roars and howls resound upon every part in a slow crescendo
until they are fused into a general and appalling uproar which could not
be more awful if the gates of Hell were to be opened on Earth.

* * * * *

I am not an artist and still less a scientist but as a simple observer I
like to take note of all that is worthy of notice and that is possible
for me to transmit in an intelligible form.

Having depicted, to the best of my ability, the characteristics of
forest life, I think it will be well--setting aside its magic charms and
manifold wonders which would make a poet even of one who has no tendency
for poetry--to describe, in a more practical way, some of its products.

I will begin with the durian, or _sumpa_, the fruit of which is unknown