“Some of the people doubtless think that you are a kind of sorcerer. For these dried plants—whatever can you do with them? You cannot eat them. You cannot make them into broth. You cannot plant them, for they are dead. You cannot form them in bouquets or wreaths, for they are brown and withered. Is it surprising, then, if some of the natives think that you are dabbling in the black art, and that your plants, in the shape of some strange and mysterious decoction, are to supply, it may be, a potent rain-medicine, or a love-philtre, or a disease-preventing physic? For among the natives themselves there are many herbal quacks, who, for a consideration, are able, not only to prescribe for the cure, and even prevention, of disease, but also to furnish charms against fire and tempest, locusts or lightning, leprosy or lunacy, ghosts, crocodiles, or witches. The explanation which I have most frequently heard given, however, by the more intelligent of the natives as to the use of the dried plants is that the leaves are intended to be employed for patterns in weaving. “It is not, then, the natives that you have to fear in regard to your collections of plants; it is the weather, it is those heavy showers that, unless protected with extreme care by waterproof coverings, succeed in soaking your specimens and your drying paper, so that you have occasionally to spend half the night in some dirty hovel in doing what you can, by the aid of a large fire, to save your collection from destruction. Still all the difficulties and discomforts are far more than outweighed by the pleasure you gain in the exercise, a pleasure which is enhanced by the consciousness that you are probably the first that has ever plucked the flowers from Nature’s bosom in that particular locality, and that a large number of the specimens will probably prove to be new to science.” [Sidenote: NESTS OF INSECTS]