Here and there a Norantea, a mile or two miles off, showed like a whole crimson flower-bed in the tree-tops; or a Poui, just coming into flower, made a spot of golden yellow--'a guinea stuck against the mountain-side,' as some one said; or the head of a palm broke the monotony of the broad-leaved foliage with its huge star of green.
Near us we descried several trees covered with pale yellow flowers, conspicuous enough on the hillside.

No one knew what they were; and a couple of Negroes (who are admirable woodmen) were sent off to cut one down and see.

What mattered a tree or two less amid a world of trees?
It was a quaint sight,--the two stalwart black figures struggling down over the fallen logs, and with them an Englishman, who thought he discerned which tree the flowers belonged to; while we at the house guided them by our shouts, and scanned the trunks through the glasses to make out in our turn which tree should be felled, from the moment that they entered under the green cloud, they of course could see little or nothing over their heads.

Animated were the arguments--almost the bets--as to which tree-top belonged to which tree-trunk.

Many were the mistakes made; and had it not been for the head of a certain palm, which served as a fixed point which there was no mistaking, three or four trees would have been cut before the right one was hit upon.