As the name implies, the leaf is like a piece of lace-work, or, more strictly speaking, like a skeleton leaf, the spaces between the veining being open. The veining is something like that of a lily leaf, the longitudinal fibre running through the whole length, and crossed at very regular intervals by the transverse veins, which are of thread-like fineness. The specific name, _fenestralis_ (“windowed”), conveys this idea of a regular arrangement of structure. The leaf-stalk varies in length with the depth of the water, always keeping a little below the surface. Each plant has ten or a dozen leaves branching from the root, which in the specimens brought to me resembled a small potato. It can be eaten, as its taste is like the farinaceous yam, common to most tropical countries; and from this likeness the generic name, _ouvirandra_, is derived—_ouvy_ or _òvy_ being the native word for yam. The plant grows in running water and thrives best in warm situations. The flower grows on a long stalk and rises a little above the surface of the water; it is of a pinkish colour, dividing into two curved hairy tufts. Few objects can be imagined more beautiful or interesting for cultivating in an aquarium than this lace-leaf plant, which Sir W. J. Hooker termed “one of the most curious of nature’s vegetable productions.” It is an endogenous plant, included in the order _Juncaginaceæ_, to which the arrow-grasses and the rushes belong; it is found not only in the eastern region, but occurs in streams near the upper belt of forest in the interior. It is said to be very tenacious of life, retaining its vitality even if the stream where it grows is dried up; the leaves in their various stages of growth pass through a gradation of colour, from a pale yellow to a dark olive-green. When full grown, its dark green leaves form the limit of a circle two or three feet in diameter. Taking a walk round the village before it was dark, I noticed several houses raised on posts five or six feet above the ground. At the top of each post, just under the floor, was a projecting circle of wood a foot or more in diameter and polished very smooth. I found that these buildings were granaries, and were raised in this way to protect the rice from rats, which are a great annoyance in most parts of the country. The smooth ring of wood effectually prevented them from getting any farther than the top of the upright posts. The ladder for getting up to these granaries is a very primitive contrivance; it consists merely of a round pole with notches cut in the upper side to prevent the foot from slipping. On a subsequent visit to Madagascar my wife and I had to use one of these _tràno àmbo_ (“raised houses”), as they are called, as a bedroom, and very clean and comfortable we found it, free from all insect plagues; the floor was of plaited bamboo, springy to walk on, although the getting up to it or down from it was a somewhat difficult feat. [Sidenote: OUR BEARERS]