The island reeks of a vast sugar factory or distillery. Sips of
the balsamic syrup are free to all, and birds and insects rejoice and
are glad. A perpetual murmur and hum of satisfaction and industry haunt
the neighbourhood of the trees as accompaniment to the varied notes of
excitable birds. Chemists say that insects imprisoned in an atmosphere
of melaleuca oil become intoxicated. Insects and birds certainly are
boldly familiar and hilarious during the time that the trees offer their
feast of spiced honey.
Every tree is a fair, and all behave accordingly, chirping and
whistling, humming and buzzing, flitting and fluttering, in the
unrestrained gaiety of holiday and feast-day humour. Always an
impertinent, interfering rascal, the spangled drongo, under the
exhilarating influence of melaleuca nectar, degenerates into a
blusterer. He could not under any circumstances be a larrikin; but the
grateful stimulant affects his naturally high spirits, and he is more
frolicsome and boisterous than ever. The path between the coco-nuts to
the beach passes close to two of the biggest trees, and from each as I
strolled along, one sublime morning when the whole world was drenched
with whiffs, strong, sweet and spirity, a drongo, flushed with
excitement, flew down, bidding me begone in language that I am fully
persuaded was meant to provoke a breach of the peace.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350