The engineer began to manifest some anxiety to get to the western coast of the island, distant, as he calculated, about five miles or less. The journey was resumed, and, although the course of the Mercy, sometimes towards the shore, was oftener towards the mountain, it was thought better to follow it as long as possible, on account of the fatigue and loss of time incident to hewing a way through the wood. Soon, the tide having attained its height, Herbert and Neb took the oars, and Pencroff the paddle, wad they continued the ascent by rowing. It seemed as if the forest of the Far West began to grow thinner. But, as the trees grew farther apart, they profited by the increased space, and attained a splendid growth. “Eucalypti!” cried Herbert, descrying some of these superb plants, the loftiest giants of the extra-tropical zone, the congeners of the eucalypti of Australia and New Zealand, both of which countries were situated in the same latitude as Lincoln Island. Some rose 200 feet in height and measured twenty feet in circumference, and their bark, five fingers in thickness, exuded an aromatic resin. Equally wonderful were the enormous specimens of myrtle, their leaves extending edgewise to the sun, and permitting its rays to penetrate and fall upon the ground. “What trees!” exclaimed Neb. “Are they good for anything?” “Pshaw!” answered Pencroff. “They are like overgrown men, good for nothing but to show in fairs!” “I think you’re wrong, Pencroff,” said Spilett, “the eucalyptus wood is beginning to be extensively used in cabinet work.” “And I am sure,” added Herbert, “that it belongs to a most useful family,” and thereupon the young naturalist enumerated many species of the plant and their uses. Every one listened to the lad’s lesson in botany, Smith smiling, Pencroff with an indescribable pride. “That’s all very well, Herbert,” answered the sailor, “but I dare swear that of all these useful specimens none are as large as these!” “That is so.” “Then, that proves what I said,” replied the sailor, “that giants are good for nothing.” “There’s where you are wrong, Pencroff,” said the engineer, “these very eucalypti are good for something.” “For what?” “To render the country healthy about them. Do you know what they call them In Australia and New Zealand?” “No sir.” “They call them ‘fever’ trees.” “Because they give it?” “No; because they prevent it!” “Good. I shall make a note of that,” said the reporter. “Note then, my dear Spilett, that it has been proved that the presence of these trees neutralizes marsh miasmas. They have tried this natural remedy in certain unhealthy parts of Europe, and northern Africa, with the best results. And there are no intermittent fevers in the region of these forests, which is a fortunate thing for us colonists of Lincoln Island.” “What a blessed island!” cried Pencroff. “It would lack nothing—if it was not—”