mother for me, and I feel like one banished from home-much as do you, Esther.'

The tears rose in Justinian's eyes, and gall embittered his heart. He bit his fingers to conceal the tremor of his lips, and then waving one hand bade Esther begone, with the promise that he would follow in a few minutes.

She accepted the dismissal and ran down the hill. She was wanted in her new home.

If it had not been that his father was bringing a new wife with him to Curgenven, Justinian would have been there to welcome him-nay, he would have run along the road to forestall his arrival. But now, as the boy said to himself, he would not be required. His father would not miss him. He would be so full of care and love for this woman that he would have no thought to spare for his son. He would show her the house, the gallery with the paintings and cabinets and tapestry, the family portraits, the conservatory, the garden. No, Justinian believed he would not be missed; if his father gave him a thought it would be mixed with self-congratulations that the lad was not about the place when he brought home his bride.

'I hate that woman,' muttered he, and so does Aunt Jane. I shan't go home till nightfall, and then I'll just creep up to my room and be seen of none. I don't want to meet her. And I'll go to school or college, or to sea-anywhere to be away from what is no longer a home to me.'

(To be continued.)

592

UP A CREEK IN DEMERARA.

IT is ten o'clock in the morning, and for two hours past the open river has been like a furnace. The glare is almost blinding as the sun pours down on the mirror-like surface of the water. Our negro boatmen have been paddling since daybreak, and now begin to nod; even the steersman, who should be wide awake, lets the head of the bateau fall off every few minutes as his head droops. The sides of our craft are almost burning to the touch, and the black skins of the paddlers glisten in the intense light, while we white men are almost stifled under our umbrellas. One of the negroes begins whistling for a wind, and causes a laugh at the absurdity of expecting anything so grateful. Earlier in the morning there was a breeze, and the fringe of vegetation along the bank of the river threw a little shade, under which we paddled comfortably; but now the breeze has gone, and the shadow of the trees become too narrow to be available. Everyone is looking for the mouth of the creek, and urging the paddlers to go a little faster so that we may get a shelter.

With the promise of a schnap the negroes bend forward with a will, singing and keeping time with their paddles, until the bateau skims along and produces a slight movement in the air, which is very grateful in comparison with the utter stagnancy of a minute or two before. Presently we are steered into a little bay from which flows a stream of coffee-coloured water, and are informed that this is the mouth of the creek. Immediately in front and on either side towering masses of foliage shut out the view, and at first it looks as if there is no opening. Bushes come down to the water and hanging creepers festoon these with rosy bignonias, yellow allamandas, dipladenias, and the thousand handsome flowers which decorate the edge of the forest.

Proceeding onward we find the apparent bay opening into the first bend of the creek, and in a few minutes we are under the trees. At once there is a most agreeable difference in the temperature. It is still hot and steamy, but our eyes are no longer dazzled by the glare. Above, the canopy of foliage meets, branches from either side uniting to form an arcade, through which only diffused light can penetrate. On one side is a large hog-plum

tree loaded with fruit, some of which is floating down the stream and affords refreshment to the party.

Past the first bend we come to another, where a gap in the forest wall allows the sunlight to penetrate. Here in the water is a large clump of crinums-the lilies of Guiana—their dark-green foliage and white flowers contrasting with the almost black waters of the creek. Near these is a bed of giant arums, their tapering stems twenty feet high, while palms and marantas fill up the background. Hardly can we appreciate one vista before we come upon another. Now the creek turns to the right and anon to the left, making long loops here and short ones there, the stream coming down so swiftly that in some places we can hardly get round the curves. Every turning brings us into another fairyland. Here is a giant mora, on the branches of which a flock of parrots are screaming, their green and crimson plumage flashing now and again as a ray of light penetrates the forest canopy. Below this, clumps of the graceful manicole, an eta, or a troolie palm, with bamboos, heliconias and ravenalias, help to make a picture transcendent in beauty. Every group differs from the others, and there are so many species that the variety is most pleasing. In one place the banks are lined with tree-ferns, then comes a bed of dahalibana palms; here the vegetation is crowded, and a little farther we catch a glimpse into the dim recesses of the forest. Now we come upon a trailing mass of creepers like curtains half closing the scene, and a little farther pass under an arabesque gateway of bush ropes.

Everywhere the trees shade us overhead and the creek water is deliciously cool. The vast trunks rise up on either side and unite above, so that our craft winds through an immense arcade. Beyond the banks of the wide river, where the vegetation slopes up from the water, the trees are almost on the same level. In the forest itself they vary in size from the great giant six feet through, to the slender stick of as many inches, but all are united in apparent confusion above our heads. Sometimes a palm may be seen from the river to rise above its surroundings, and before coming into the creek an immense silk-cotton tree was conspicuous above all others. Wishing to get near to this we told one of our men who knew the locality to let us land as near as we could. After taking a score of turnings he informed us we could reach it from here with a great deal of trouble. Taking our cutlasses therefore we went ashore, walking in an oozy rich soil of

clay and rotting leaves, only prevented from sinking at every step by the interlacing roots. Near the bank of the creek prickly palms, creepers, and a thousand tall marantas obstruct our way, but after chopping a lane through these the forest becomes clear of all save a few bush ropes. Winding in and out among the buttresses we arrive at last under the veritable king of the forest. Towering above us to a height of a hundred feet is a trunk at least twenty feet through, with buttresses sloping down in every direction and forming angular chambers. Our whole party of a dozen stand in one of these and are unable to look over into the next division. Above our heads the dome of branches and foliage covers an area of over three hundred feet in diameter, each great limb larger than the finest timber trees in Europe. This magnificent tree is a little world in itself. From the ground rise hundreds of bush ropes like the rigging of a ship, and far above we see their scrambling branches among the more stiff limbs of their host. Among these, seated securely on every branch, are a hundred species of epiphytes, including wild pines, orchids, ferns, peperomias, and arums. Some are upright and stiff, others hanging downwards, and a few creeping round and round the branch. The leaves and flowers of both tree and bush rope are indistinguishable from below, and even the army of epiphytes can only be identified by aid of a glass.

Returning to our bateau we proceed onwards, scene after scene exhibiting something more wonderful and interesting. Here is a tree leaning across and loaded with interesting plants. A gongora with its pendulous spike of crimson locust-like flowers, yellow brassias, delicate waxy stanhopeas, and a score of other orchids, embellish its trunk amid delicate creeping ferns and mosses. Bird's-nest-like arums with great leaves are very conspicuous, while that curious cactus, Rhypsalis Cassytha, hangs down like clusters of mistletoe. Now we come to a number of long cords dangling from above, and looking far upwards see that they are the aerial roots of a gigantic arum perched eighty feet above us. As they touch the water they branch into masses of fibrous roots which convey water to that magnificent rosette of leaves so far overhead. The ivy-like marcgravia is conspicuous on some of the trunks, its branches bearing the ring of curious pitchers which make it so interesting to a botanist. Its cousin, the norantea, has scrambled to the top of a great tree, and makes a grand show with its long spike of orange-scarlet pitchers. Here are the large

flowers of the cowhage vine hanging from threads, and near them some of the pods with their curious ribs and bristles, containing those round seeds commonly called horse-eyes.

Then comes a

wallaba with pods also depending from long cord-like stems, resembling miniature swords strung up to the trees. A flash of yellow through the tree-tops shows where the etabally is flowering, and here close at hand is a tree with every branch and twig decorated with rosy stamens standing out like bristles.

In this wonderful fairyland the eye never tires. We can hardly speak to each other for fear of losing something of the feeling of awe which steals over us. Presently the negroes commence one of their boat songs, which seems to harmonise with the surroundings. We are alone with nature and even rude music is not discordant. All is silent in the forest, save at long intervals when a howling monkey utters its weird series of notes. It is now mid-day, when almost every bird and beast is sleeping. A dreamy feeling comes over us, and we should like to lie down in hammocks between the trees and give way to it. Hardly a living creature is seen, only a splendid blue morpho butterfly now and again dancing across. As its wings catch a ray of light they shine with a brilliancy which can only be appreciated under such circum

stances.

We are awakened from our reverie by an obstruction. Here is a confused mass of branches and foliage stretching from one bank to another immediately in front. A tree has lately fallen bringing with it everything that stood in the way, and now proves a formidable obstacle to further progress. We decide to get through some way or other, and after consulting the boatmen commence to attack the wreckage in front. The trunk is too large to cut through, but as it stands a foot above the water we expect to push our bateau under. One branch after another goes floating down the stream and the bow is soon up to the trunk. One of the party after another then scrambles over, the bateau slips through, and we all embark on the other side.

On again through ever-changing scenes of beauty, grandeur, and magnificence. Now the creek turns one way and then another, the windings more than doubling our journey. Some times we have to crouch down in passing under a fallen tree, and are continually bending this way and that to avoid hook-leaved palms, aerial roots, and hanging creepers. Here is the pretty white-felt-like nest of a humming-bird, and further on more nests of