Many travellers—Wallace and Bates among them—speak often of the scarcity of flowers in the tropics, but here at Hoorie and on our later expeditions we were hardly ever out of sight of blossoms. A few feet behind us, as we sit on the log, are two Solomon-seal-like plants (_Castus_ sp.) eighteen inches high, with the stem and leaves growing in a wide ascending spiral—making one revolution throughout its course. A sheaf of flower heads appears at the top of the plant with a single white open flower, giving forth the sweetest perfume. Bell-shaped, it is formed by a single sweeping petal, the edges apposed along the summit, and the mouth rimmed with the finest hair-like fringe. The slit in the upper part is protected by a second narrow petal recurved at the tip, showing the heart within. Such a blossom would be a splendid addition to our conservatories, and a vast harvest awaits the grower of tropical plants other than orchids. Now, the morning half gone, rain falls—a gentle mist, light as dew, refreshing and pleasant. [Illustration: FIG. 86. A JUNGLE BLOSSOM.] Through the drops to the blossom comes a great morpho butterfly of blue tinsel, soon followed by a big yellow papilio. A tiny white butterfly, bordered with black, dashes up and attacks the papilio with fury, driving it away, as a Kingbird vanquishes a Hawk. Just as we are about to arise, a Goldbird calls in the distance and then without warning a beautiful song rings out close at hand—six or eight clear descending notes like the early morning chant of the Woodhewer, but even more liquid, running together at the last into a maze of warbling which continues for eight or ten seconds—then ceases, and the liquid notes form an exquisite finalé of a trio of sweet phrases. The singer is invisible; we never learn what it is, but it deserves a place near the head of the songsters even of temperate climes. As we walk along, Toucans and other birds fly high overhead with whirring beats of their drenched wings. Woodhewers loop from trunk to trunk and peer at us as we pass, while Ant-birds fly here and there. In all our tramps through thick jungles, these two latter families are in the majority, the former hitching up the trunks like brown Woodpeckers of various sizes, the latter simulating Wrens, Warblers and Sparrows in action and often in voice. One, a White-shouldered Pygmy Ant-bird,[91] now flits ahead of us, tiny as a Wren, slate-colored, with white dots on the lesser coverts of the wings and a dotted bar across the wings. The flanks and under wings are white and although ordinarily concealed, yet the little fellow flirts his wings every second, thus flashing out the color, and making himself most conspicuous. His call-note is low and inarticulate, but he occasionally lisps a pleasing little song; _chu! chu! chúwee!_