The Naturalist On The River Amazons By Henry Walter Bates

by Henry Walter Bates AN APPRECIATION BY CHARLES DARWINAuthor of “The Origin of Species,” etc. From Natural History Review, vol. iii. 1863. “It is generally allowed that Guiana and Brazil, to the north and south of the Para district, form two distinct provinces, as regards their animal and vegetable inhabitants. By this it means that the two regions have a very large number of forms peculiar to themselves, and which are supposed not to have been derived from other quarters during modern geological times. Each may be considered as a centre of distribution in the latest process of dissemination of species over the surface of tropical America. Para lies midway between the two centres, each of which has a nucleus of elevated table-land, whilst the intermediate river- valley forms a wide extent of low-lying country. It is, therefore, interesting to ascertain from which the latter received its population, or whether it contains so large a number of endemic species as would warrant the conclusion that it is itself an independent province. To assist in deciding such questions as these, we must compare closely the species found in the district with those of the other contiguous regions, and endeavour to ascertain whether they are identical, or only slightly modified, or whether they are highly peculiar. “In the controversy which is being waged amongst Naturalists since the publication of the Darwinian theory of the origin of species, it has been rightly said that no proof at present existed of the production of a physiological species, that is, a form which will not interbreed with the one from which it was derived, although given ample opportunities of doing so, and does not exhibit signs of reverting to its parent form when placed under the same conditions with it. Morphological species, that is, forms which differ to an amount that would justify their being considered good species, have been produced in plenty through selection by man out of variations arising under domestication or cultivation. The facts just given are therefore of some scientific importance, for they tend to show that a physiological species can be and is produced in nature out of the varieties of a pre-existing closely allied one. This is not an isolated case, for I observed in the course of my travels a number of similar instances. But in very few has it happened that the species which clearly appears to be the parent, co-exists with one that has been evidently derived from it. Generally the supposed parent also seems to have been modified, and then the demonstration is not so clear, for some of the links in the chain of variation are wanting. The process of origination of a species in nature as it takes place successively, must be ever, perhaps, beyond man’s power to trace, on account of the great lapse of time it requires. But we can obtain a fair view of it by tracing a variable and far-spreading species over the wide area of its present distribution; and a long observation of such will lead to the conclusion that new species must in all cases have arisen out of variable and widely-disseminated forms. It sometimes happens, as in the present instance, that we find in one locality a species under a certain form which is constant to all the individuals concerned; in another exhibiting numerous varieties; and in a third presenting itself as a constant form quite distinct from the one we set out with. If we meet with any two of these modifications living side by side, and maintaining their distinctive characters under such circumstances, the proof of the natural origination of a species is complete; it could not be much more so were we able to watch the process step by step. It might be objected that the difference between our two species is but slight, and that by classing them as varieties nothing further would be proved by them. But the differences between them are such as obtain between allied species generally. Large genera are composed in great part of such species, and it is interesting to show the great and beautiful diversity within a large genus as brought about by the working of laws within our comprehension.” The following is the list of H. W. Bates’ published works: Bates was for many years the editor of the Transactions of the Royal Geographical Society; the following works were edited and revised, or supplemented by him:–Mrs. Somerville’s Physical Geography, 1870; A. Humbert, Japan and the Japanese, 1874; C. Koldewey, the German Arctic Expedition, 1874; P. E. Warburton, Journey across the Western Interior of Australia, 1875; Cassell’s Illustrated Travels, 6 vols., 1869-1875; E. Whymper, Travels among the Great Andes of the Equator (Introduction to Appendix volume), 1892, etc.; Central America, the West Indies and South America; Stanford’s Compendium of Geography and Travel, 2nd revised Ed., 1882; he also added a list of Coleoptera collected by J. S. Jameson on the Aruwini to the latter’s Story of the Rear Column of the Emin Pasha Relief Expedition, etc., 1890; and an appendix to a catalogue of Phytophaga by H. Clark, 1866, etc.; and contributed a biographical notice of Keith Johnson to J. Thomson’s Central African Lakes and Back, 1881. He contributed largely to the Zoologist, Entomological Society’s journal, Annals and Magazine of Natural History, and Entomologist. LIFE–Memoir by E. Clodd, 1892; short notice in Clodd’s Pioneers of Evolution, 1897. AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1864 HAVING been urged to prepare a new edition of this work for a wider circle than that contemplated in the former one, I have thought it advisable to condense those portions which, treating of abstruse scientific questions, presuppose a larger amount of Natural History knowledge than an author has a right to expect of the general reader. The personal narrative has been left entire, together with those descriptive details likely to interest all classes, young and old, relating to the great river itself, and the wonderful country through which it flows,–the luxuriant primaeval forests that clothe almost every part of it, the climate, productions, and inhabitants. LONDON, January, 1864. CHAPTER I PARA Arrival–Aspect of the Country–The Para River–First Walk in the Suburbs of Para–Birds, Lizards, and Insects of the Suburbs– Leaf-carrying Ant–Sketch of the Climate, History, and present Condition of Para. It was with deep interest that my companion and myself, both now about to see and examine the beauties of a tropical country for the first time, gazed on the land where I, at least, eventually spent eleven of the best years of my life. To the eastward the country was not remarkable in appearance, being slightly undulating, with bare sandhills and scattered trees; but to the westward, stretching towards the mouth of the river, we could see through the captain’s glass a long line of forest, rising apparently out of the water; a densely-packed mass of tall trees, broken into groups, and finally into single trees, as it dwindled away in the distance. This was the frontier, in this direction, of the great primaeval forest characteristic of this region, which contains so many wonders in its recesses, and clothes the whole surface of the country for two thousand miles from this point to the foot of the Andes. On the following day and night we sailed, with a light wind, partly aided by the tide, up the Para river. Towards evening we passed Vigia and Colares, two fishing villages, and saw many native canoes, which seemed like toys beneath the lofty walls of dark forest. The air was excessively close, the sky overcast, and sheet lightning played almost incessantly around the horizon– an appropriate greeting on the threshold of a country lying close under the equator! The evening was calm, this being the season when the winds are not strong, so we glided along in a noiseless manner, which contrasted pleasantly with the unceasing turmoil to which we had been lately accustomed on the Atlantic. The immensity of the river struck us greatly, for although sailing sometimes at a distance of eight or nine miles from the eastern bank, the opposite shore was at no time visible. Indeed, the Para river is thirty-six miles in breadth at its mouth; and at the city of Para, nearly seventy miles from the sea, it is twenty miles wide; but at that point, a series of islands commences which contracts the riverview in front of the port. On the morning of the 28th of May, we arrived at our destination. The appearance of the city at sunrise was pleasing in the highest degree. It is built on a low tract of land, having only one small rocky elevation at its southern extremity; it, therefore, affords no amphitheatral view from the river; but the white buildings roofed with red tiles, the numerous towers and cupolas of churches and convents, the crowns of palm trees reared above the buildings, all sharply defined against the clear blue sky, give an appearance of lightness and cheerfulness which is most exhilarating. The perpetual forest hems the city in on all sides landwards; and towards the suburbs, picturesque country houses are seen scattered about, half buried in luxuriant foliage. The port was full of native canoes and other vessels, large and small; and the ringing of bells and firing of rockets, announcing the dawn of some Roman Catholic festival day, showed that the population was astir at that early hour. We went ashore in due time, and were kindly received by Mr. Miller, the consignee of the vessel, who invited us to make his house our home until we could obtain a suitable residence. On landing, the hot moist mouldy air, which seemed to strike from the ground and walls, reminded me of the atmosphere of tropical stoves at Kew. In the course of the afternoon a heavy shower fell, and in the evening, the atmosphere having been cooled by the rain, we walked about a mile out of town to the residence of an American gentleman to whom our host wished to introduce us. The impressions received during this first walk can never wholly fade from my mind. After traversing the few streets of tall, gloomy, convent-looking buildings near the port, inhabited chiefly by merchants and shopkeepers, along which idle soldiers, dressed in shabby uniforms carrying their muskets carelessly over their arms, priests, negresses with red water-jars on their heads, sad-looking Indian women carrying their naked children astride on their hips, and other samples of the motley life of the place, we passed down a long narrow street leading to the suburbs. Beyond this, our road lay across a grassy common into a picturesque lane leading to the virgin forest. The long street was inhabited by the poorer class of the population. The houses were of one story only, and had an irregular and mean appearance. The windows were without glass, having, instead, projecting lattice casements. The street was unpaved, and inches deep in loose sand. Groups of people were cooling themselves outside their doors– people of all shades in colour of skin, European, Negro and Indian, but chiefly an uncertain mixture of the three. Amongst them were several handsome women dressed in a slovenly manner, barefoot or shod in loose slippers, but wearing richly- decorated earrings, and around their necks strings of very large gold beads. They had dark expressive eyes, and remarkably rich heads of hair. It was a mere fancy, but I thought the mingled squalor, luxuriance and beauty of these women were pointedly in harmony with the rest of the scene– so striking, in the view, was the mixture of natural riches and human poverty. The houses were mostly in a dilapidated condition, and signs of indolence and neglect were visible everywhere. The wooden palings which surrounded the weed-grown gardens were strewn about and broken; hogs, goats, and ill-fed poultry wandered in and out through the gaps. But amidst all, and compensating every defect, rose the overpowering beauty of the vegetation. The massive dark crowns of shady mangos were seen everywhere amongst the dwellings, amidst fragrant blossoming orange, lemon, and many other tropical fruit trees, some in flower, others in fruit, at varying stages of ripeness. Here and there, shooting above the more dome-like and sombre trees, were the smooth columnar stems of palms, bearing aloft their magnificent crowns of finely-cut fronds. Amongst the latter the slim assai-palm was especially noticeable, growing in groups of four or five; its smooth, gently-curving stem, twenty to thirty feet high, terminating in a head of feathery foliage, inexpressibly light and elegant in outline. On the boughs of the taller and more ordinary-looking trees sat tufts of curiously- leaved parasites. Slender, woody lianas hung in festoons from the branches, or were suspended in the form of cords and ribbons; whilst luxuriant creeping plants overran alike tree-trunks, roofs and walls, or toppled over palings in a copious profusion of foliage. The superb banana (Musa paradisiaca), of which I had always read as forming one of the charms of tropical vegetation, grew here with great luxuriance– its glossy velvety-green leaves, twelve feet in length, curving over the roofs of verandahs in the rear of every house. The shape of the leaves, the varying shades of green which they present when lightly moved by the wind, and especially the contrast they afford in colour and form to the more sombre hues and more rounded outline of the other trees, are quite sufficient to account for the charm of this glorious tree. Strange forms of vegetation drew our attention at almost every step. Amongst them were the different kinds of Bromelia, or pineapple plants, with their long, rigid, sword-shaped leaves, in some species jagged or toothed along their edges. Then there was the bread-fruit tree–an importation, it is true; but remarkable from its large, glossy, dark green, strongly digitated foliage, and its interesting history. Many other trees and plants, curious in leaf, stem, or manner of growth, grew on the borders of the thickets along which lay our road; they were all attractive to newcomers, whose last country ramble of quite recent date was over the bleak moors of Derbyshire on a sleety morning in April. As we continued our walk the brief twilight commenced, and the sounds of multifarious life came from the vegetation around. The whirring of cicadas; the shrill stridulation of a vast number and variety of field crickets and grasshoppers, each species sounding its peculiar note; the plaintive hooting of tree frogs–all blended together in one continuous ringing sound–the audible expression of the teeming profusion of Nature. As night came on, many species of frogs and toads in the marshy places joined in the chorus– their croaking and drumming, far louder than anything I had before heard in the same line, being added to the other noises, created an almost deafening din. This uproar of life, I afterwards found, never wholly ceased, night or day. In the course of time I became, like other residents, accustomed to it. It is, however, one of the peculiarities of a tropical–at least, a Brazilian–climate which is most likely to surprise a stranger. After my return to England, the deathlike stillness of summer days in the country appeared to me as strange as the ringing uproar did on my first arrival at Para. The object of our visit being accomplished, we returned to the city. The fire-flies were then out in great numbers, flitting about the sombre woods, and even the frequented streets. We turned into our hammocks, well pleased with what we had seen, and full of anticipation with regard to the wealth of natural objects we had come to explore. During the first few days, we were employed in landing our baggage and arranging our extensive apparatus. We then accepted the invitation of Mr. Miller to make use of his rocinha, or country-house in the suburbs, until we finally decided on a residence. Upon this, we made our first essay in housekeeping. We bought cotton hammocks, the universal substitute for beds in this country, cooking utensils and crockery, and engaged a free negro, named Isidoro, as cook and servant-of-all-work. Our first walks were in the immediate suburbs of Para. The city lies on a corner of land formed by the junction of the river Guama with the Para. As I have said before, the forest, which covers the whole country, extends close up to the city streets; indeed, the town is built on a tract of cleared land, and is kept free from the jungle only by the constant care of the Government. The surface, though everywhere low, is slightly undulating, so that areas of dry land alternate throughout with areas of swampy ground, the vegetation and animal tenants of the two being widely different. Our residence lay on the side of the city nearest the Guama, on the borders of one of the low and swampy areas which here extends over a portion of the suburbs. The tract of land is intersected by well-macadamised suburban roads, the chief of which, the Estrada das Mongubeiras (the Monguba road), about a mile long, is a magnificent avenue of silk-cotton trees (Bombax monguba and B. ceiba), huge trees whose trunks taper rapidly from the ground upwards, and whose flowers before opening look like red balls studding the branches. This fine road was constructed under the governorship of the Count dos Arcos, about the year 1812. At right angles to it run a number of narrow green lanes, and the whole district is drained by a system of small canals or trenches through which the tide ebbs and flows, showing the lowness of the site. Before I left the country, other enterprising presidents had formed a number of avenues lined with cocoanut palms, almond and other trees, in continuation of the Monguba road, over the more elevated and drier ground to the north-east of the city. On the high ground the vegetation has an aspect quite different from that which it presents in the swampy parts. Indeed, with the exception of the palm trees, the suburbs here have an aspect like that of a village green at home. The soil is sandy, and the open commons are covered with a short grassy and shrubby vegetation. Beyond this, the land again descends to a marshy tract, where, at the bottom of the moist hollows, the public wells are situated. Here all the linen of the city is washed by hosts of noisy negresses, and here also the water-carts are filled–painted hogsheads on wheels, drawn by bullocks. In early morning, when the sun sometimes shines through a light mist, and everything is dripping with moisture, this part of the city is full of life; vociferous negroes and wrangling Gallegos, [Natives of Galicia, in Spain, who follow this occupation in Lisbon and Oporto, as well as at Para] the proprietors of the water-carts, are gathered about, jabbering continually, and taking their morning drams in dirty wineshops at the street corners. Along these beautiful roads we found much to interest us during the first few days. Suburbs of towns, and open, sunny cultivated places in Brazil, are tenanted by species of animals and plants which are mostly different from those of the dense primaeval forests. I will, therefore, give an account of what we observed of the animal world during our explorations in the immediate neighbourhood of Para. Another interesting and common bird was the Japim, a species of Cassicus ( C. icteronotus). It belongs to the same family of birds as our starling, magpie, and rook–it has a rich yellow and black plumage, remarkably compact and velvety in texture. The shape of its head and its physiognomy are very similar to those of the magpie; it has light grey eyes, which give it the same knowing expression. It is social in its habits, and builds its nest, like the English rook, on trees in the neighbourhood of habitations. But the nests are quite differently constructed, being shaped like purses, two feet in length, and suspended from the slender branches all around the tree, some of them very near the ground. The entrance is on the side near the bottom of the nest. The bird is a great favourite with the Brazilians of Para– it is a noisy, stirring, babbling creature, passing constantly to and fro, chattering to its comrades, and is very ready at imitating other birds, especially the domestic poultry of the vicinity. There was at one time a weekly newspaper published at Para, called “The Japim”; the name being chosen, I suppose, on account of the babbling propensities of the bird. Its eggs are nearly round, and of a bluish-white colour, speckled with brown. Of other vertebrate animals we saw very little, except of the lizards. These are sure to attract the attention of the newcomer from Northern Europe, by reason of their strange appearance, great numbers, and variety. The species which are seen crawling over the walls of buildings in the city are different from those found in the forest or in the interior of houses. They are unpleasant-looking animals, with colours assimilated to those of the dilapidated stone and mud walls on which they are seen. The house lizards belong to a peculiar family, the Geckos, and are found even in the best-kept chambers, most frequently on the walls and ceilings, to which they cling motionless by day, being active only at night. They are of speckled grey or ashy colours. The structure of their feet is beautifully adapted for clinging to and running over smooth surfaces; the underside of their toes being expanded into cushions, beneath which folds of skin form a series of flexible plates. By means of this apparatus they can walk or run across a smooth ceiling with their backs downwards; the plated soles, by quick muscular action, exhausting and admitting air alternately. The Geckos are very repulsive in appearance. The Brazilians give them the name of Osgas, and firmly believe them to be poisonous; they are, however, harmless creatures. Those found in houses are small; but I have seen others of great size, in crevices of tree trunks in the forest. Sometimes Geckos are found with forked tails; this results from the budding of a rudimentary tail at the side, from an injury done to the member. A slight rap will cause their tails to snap off; the loss being afterwards partially repaired by a new growth. The tails of lizards seem to be almost useless appendages to these animals. I used often to amuse myself in the suburbs, whilst resting in the verandah of our house during the heat of mid-day, by watching the variegated green, brown, and yellow ground-lizards. They would come nimbly forward, and commence grubbing with their forefeet and snouts around the roots of herbage, searching for insect larvae. On the slightest alarm, they would scamper off, their tails cocked up in the air as they waddled awkwardly away, evidently an incumbrance to them in their flight. I will pass over the many other orders and families of insects, and proceed at once to the ants. These were in great numbers everywhere, but I will mention here only two kinds. We were amazed at seeing ants an inch and a quarter in length, and stout in proportion, marching in single file through the thickets. These belonged to the species called Dinoponera grandis. Its colonies consist of a small number of individuals, and are established about the roots of slender trees. It is a stinging species, but the sting is not so severe as in many of the smaller kinds. There was nothing peculiar or attractive in the habits of this giant among the ants. Another far more interesting species was the Sauba (Oecodoma cephalotes). This ant is seen everywhere about the suburbs, marching to and fro in broad columns. From its habit of despoiling the most valuable cultivated trees of their foliage, it is a great scourge to the Brazilians. In some districts it is so abundant that agriculture is almost impossible, and everywhere complaints are heard of the terrible pest. The workers of this species are of three orders, and vary in size from two to seven lines; some idea of them may be obtained from the accompanying woodcut. The true working-class of a colony is formed by the small-sized order of workers, the worker-minors as they are called (Fig. I). The two other kinds, whose functions, as we shall see, are not yet properly understood, have enormously swollen and massive heads; in one (Fig. 2), the head is highly polished; in the other (Fig. 3), it is opaque and hairy. The worker-minors vary greatly in size, some being double the bulk of others. The entire body is of very solid consistency, and of a pale reddish-brown colour. The thorax or middle segment is armed with three pairs of sharp spines; the head, also, has a pair of similar spines proceeding from the cheeks behind. In our first walks we were puzzled to account for large mounds of earth, of a different colour from the surrounding soil, which were thrown up in the plantations and woods. Some of them were very extensive, being forty yards in circumference, but not more than two feet in height. We soon ascertained that these were the work of the Saubas, being the outworks, or domes, which overlie and protect the entrances to their vast subterranean galleries. On close examination, I found the earth of which they are composed to consist of very minute granules, agglomerated without cement, and forming many rows of little ridges and turrets. The difference in colour from the superficial soil of the vicinity is owing to their being formed of the undersoil, brought up from a considerable depth. It is very rarely that the ants are seen at work on these mounds; the entrances seem to be generally closed; only now and then, when some particular work is going on, are the galleries opened. The entrances are small and numerous; in the larger hillocks it would require a great amount of excavation to get at the main galleries; but, I succeeded in removing portions of the dome in smaller hillocks, and then I found that the minor entrances converged, at the depth of about two feet, into one broad, elaborately-worked gallery or mine, which was four or five inches in diameter. This habit of the Sauba ant, of clipping and carrying away immense quantities of leaves, has long been recorded in books on natural history. When employed on this work, their processions look like a multitude of animated leaves on the march. In some places I found an accumulation of such leaves, all circular pieces, about the size of a sixpence, lying on the pathway, unattended by ants, and at some distance from any colony. Such heaps are always found to be removed when the place is revisited the next day. In course of time I had plenty of opportunities of seeing them at work. They mount the tree in multitudes, the individuals being all worker-minors. Each one places itself on the surface of a leaf, and cuts, with its sharp scissor-like jaws, a nearly semicircular incision on the upper side; it then takes the edge between its jaws, and by a sharp jerk detaches the piece. Sometimes they let the leaf drop to the ground, where a little heap accumulates, until carried off by another relay of workers; but, generally, each marches off with the piece it has operated upon, and as all take the same road to their colony, the path they follow becomes in a short time smooth and bare, looking like the impression of a cartwheel through the herbage. It is a most interesting sight to see the vast host of busy diminutive labourers occupied on this work. Unfortunately, they choose cultivated trees for their purpose. This ant is quite peculiar to Tropical America, as is the entire genus to which it belongs; it sometimes despoils the young trees of species growing wild in its native forests, but seems to prefer, when within reach, plants imported from other countries, such as the coffee and orange trees. It has not hitherto been shown satisfactorily to what use it applies the leaves. I discovered this only after much time spent in investigation. The leaves are used to thatch the domes which cover the entrances to their subterranean dwellings, thereby protecting from the deluging rains the young broods in the nests beneath. The larger mounds, already described, are so extensive that few persons would attempt to remove them for the purpose of examining their interior; but smaller hillocks, covering other entrances to the same system of tunnels and chambers, may be found in sheltered places, and these are always thatched with leaves, mingled with granules of earth. The heavily-laden workers, each carrying its segment of leaf vertically, the lower edge secured in its mandibles, troop up and cast their burdens on the hillock; another relay of labourers place the leaves in position, covering them with a layer of earthy granules, which are brought one by one from the soil beneath. The underground abodes of this wonderful ant are known to be very extensive. The Rev. Hamlet Clark has related that the Sauba of Rio de Janeiro, a species closely allied to ours, has excavated a tunnel under the bed of the river Parahyba, at a place where it is broad as the Thames at London Bridge. At the Magoary Rice Mills, near Para, these ants once pierced the embankment of a large reservoir; the great body of water which it contained escaped before the damage could be repaired. In the Botanic Gardens, at Para, an enterprising French gardener tried all he could think of to extirpate the Sauba. With this object, he made fires over some of the main entrances to their colonies, and blew the fumes of sulphur down the galleries by means of bellows. I saw the smoke issue from a great number of outlets, one of which was seventy yards distant from the place where the bellows were used. This shows how extensively the underground galleries are ramified. Besides injuring and destroying young trees by despoiling them of their foliage, the Sauba ant is troublesome to the inhabitants from its habit of plundering the stores of provisions in houses at night, for it is even more active by night than in the day- time. At first I was inclined to discredit the stories of their entering habitations and carrying off grain by grain the farinha or mandioca meal, the bread of the poorer classes of Brazil. At length, whilst residing at an Indian village on the Tapajos, I had ample proof of the fact. One night my servant woke me three or four hours before sunrise, by calling out that the rats were robbing the farinha baskets–the article at that time being scarce and dear. I got up, listened, and found the noise was very unlike that made by rats. So, I took the light and went into the storeroom, which was close to my sleeping-place. I there found a broad column of Sauba ants, consisting of thousands of individuals, as busy as possible, passing to and fro between the door and my precious baskets. Most of those passing outwards were laden each with a grain of farinha, which was, in some cases, larger and many times heavier than the bodies of the carriers. Farinha consists of grains of similar size and appearance to the tapioca of our shops; both are products of the same root, tapioca being the pure starch, and farinha the starch mixed with woody fibre, the latter ingredient giving it a yellowish colour. It was amusing to see some of the dwarfs, the smallest members of their family, staggering along, completely hidden under their load. The baskets, which were on a high table, were entirely covered with ants, many hundreds of whom were employed in snipping the dry leaves which served as lining. This produced the rustling sound which had at first disturbed us. My servant told me that they would carry off the whole contents of the two baskets (about two bushels) in the course of the night, if they were not driven off; so we tried to exterminate them by killing them with our wooden clogs. It was impossible, however, to prevent fresh hosts coming in as fast as we killed their companions. They returned the next night; and I was then obliged to lay trains of gunpowder along their line, and blow them up. This, repeated many times, at last seemed to intimidate them, for we were free from their visits during the remainder of my residence at the place. What they did with the hard dry grains of mandioca I was never able to ascertain, and cannot even conjecture. The meal contains no gluten, and therefore would be useless as cement. It contains only a smallrelative portion of starch, and, when mixed with water, it separates and falls away like so much earthy matter. It may serve as food for the subterranean workers. But the young or larvae of ants are usually fed by juices secreted by the worker nurses. Ants, it is scarcely necessary to observe, consist, in each species, of three sets of individuals, Or, as some express it, of three sexes–namely, males, females, and workers; the last- mentioned being undeveloped females. The perfect sexes are winged on their first attaining the adult state; they alone propagate their kind, flying away, previous to the act of reproduction, from the nest in which they have been reared. This winged state of the perfect males and females, and the habit of flying abroad before pairing, are very important points in the economy of ants; for they are thus enabled to intercross with members of distant colonies which swarm at the same time, and thereby increase the vigour of the race, a proceeding essential to the prosperity of any species. In many ants, especially those of tropical climates, the workers, again, are of two classes, whose structure and functions are widely different. In some species they are wonderfully unlike each other, and constitute two well-defined forms of workers. In others, there is a gradation of individuals between the two extremes. The curious differences in structure and habits between these two classes form an interesting, but very difficult, study. It is one of the great peculiarities of the Sauba ant to possess three classes of workers. My investigations regarding them were far from complete; I will relate, however, what I have observed on the subject. When engaged in leaf-cutting, plundering farinha, and other operations, two classes of workers are always seen (Figs. 1 and 2, page 10). They are not, it is true, very sharply defined in structure, for individuals of intermediate grades occur. All the work, however, is done by the individuals which have small heads (Fig. 1), while those which have enormously large heads, the worker-majors (Fig. 2), are observed to be simply walking about. I could never satisfy myself as to the function of these worker- majors. They are not the soldiers or defenders of the working portion of the community, like the armed class in the termites, or white ants, for they never fight. The species has no sting, and does not display active resistance when interfered with. I once imagined they exercised a sort of superintendence over the others; but this function is entirely unnecessary in a community where all work with a precision and regularity resembling the subordinate parts of a piece of machinery. I came to the conclusion, at last, that they have no very precisely defined function. They cannot, however, be entirely useless to the community, for the sustenance of an idle class of such bulky individuals would be too heavy a charge for the species to sustain. I think they serve, in some sort, as passive instruments of protection to the real workers. Their enormously large, hard, and indestructible heads may be of use in protecting them against the attacks of insectivorous animals. They would be, on this view, a kind of “pieces de resistance,” serving as a foil against onslaughts made on the main body of workers. The third order of workers is the most curious of all. If the top of a small, fresh hillock, one in which the thatching process is going on, is taken off, a broad cylindrical shaft is disclosed at a depth of about two feet from the surface. If this is probed with a stick, which may be done to the extent of three or four feet without touching bottom, a small number of colossal fellows (Fig. 3) will slowly begin to make their way up the smooth sides of the mine. Their heads are of the same size as those of the class Fig. 2, but the front is clothed with hairs, instead of being polished, and they have in the middle of the forehead a twin, ocellus, or simple eye, of quite different structure from the ordinary compound eyes, on the sides of the head. This frontal eye is totally wanting in the other workers, and is not known in any other kind of ant. The apparition of these strange creatures from the cavernous depths of the mine reminded me, when I first observed them, of the Cyclopes of Homeric fable. They were not very pugnacious, as I feared they would be, and I had no difficulty in securing a few with my fingers. I never saw them under any other circumstances than those here related, and what their special functions may be I cannot divine. The whole arrangement of a Formicarium, or ant-colony, and all the varied activity of ant-life, are directed to one main purpose–the perpetuation and dissemination of the species. Most of the labour which we see performed by the workers has for its end the sustenance and welfare of the young brood, which are helpless grubs. The true females are incapable of attending to the wants of their offspring; and it is on the poor sterile workers, who are denied all the other pleasures of maternity, that the entire care devolves. The workers are also the chief agents in carrying out the different migrations of the colonies, which are of vast importance to the dispersal and consequent prosperity of the species. The successful debut of the winged males and females depends likewise on the workers. It is amusing to see the activity and excitement which reigns in an ant’s nest when the exodus of the winged individuals is taking place. The workers clear the roads of exit, and show the most lively interest in their departure, although it is highly improbable that any of them will return to the same colony. The swarming or exodus of the winged males and females of the Sauba ant takes place in January and February, that is, at the commencement of the rainy season. They come out in the evening in vast numbers, causing quite a commotion in the streets and lanes. They are of very large size, the female measuring no less than two-and-a- quarter inches in expanse of wing; the male is not much more than half this size. They are so eagerly preyed upon by insectivorous animals that on the morning after their flight not an individual is to be seen, a few impregnated females alone escaping the slaughter to found new colonies. At the time of our arrival, Para had not quite recovered from the effects of a series of revolutions, brought about by the hatred which existed between the native Brazilians and the Portuguese; the former, in the end, calling to their aid the Indian and mixed coloured population. The number of inhabitants of the city had decreased, in consequence of these disorders, from 24,500 in 1819, to 15,000 in 1848. Although the public peace had not been broken for twelve years before the date of our visit, confidence was not yet completely restored, and the Portuguese merchants and tradesmen would not trust themselves to live at their beautiful country houses or rocinhas, which lie embosomed in the luxuriant shady gardens around the city. No progress had been made in clearing the second-growth forest which had grown over the once cultivated grounds, and now reached the end of all the suburban streets. The place had the aspect of one which had seen better days; the public buildings, including the palaces of the President and Bishop, the cathedral, the principal churches and convents, all seemed constructed on a scale of grandeur far beyond the present requirements of the city. Streets full of extensive private residences, built in the Italian style of architecture, were in a neglected condition, weeds and flourishing young trees growing from large cracks in the masonry. The large public squares were overgrown with weeds and impassable, on account of the swampy places which occupied portions of their areas. Commerce, however, was now beginning to revive, and before I left the country I saw great improvements, as I shall have to relate towards the conclusion of this narrative. Up to 1848 the salubrity of Para was quite remarkable for a city lying in the delta of a great river, in the middle of the tropics and half surrounded by swamps. It did not much longer enjoy its immunity from epidemics. In 1850 the yellow fever visited the province for the first time, and carried off in a few weeks more than four percent of the population. One disease after another succeeded, until in 1855 cholera swept through the country and caused fearful havoc. Since then, the healthfulness of the climate has been gradually restored, and it is now fast recovering its former good reputation. Para is free from serious endemic disorders, and was once a resort of invalids from New York and Massachusetts. The equable temperature, the perpetual verdure, the coolness of the dry season when the sun’s heat is tempered by the strong sea-breezes and the moderation of the periodical rains, make the climate one of the most enjoyable on the face of the earth. The province is governed, like all others in the empire, by a President, as chief civil authority. At the time of our arrival he also held, exceptionally, the chief military command. This functionary, together with the head of the police administration and the judges, is nominated by the central Government at Rio Janeiro. The municipal and internal affairs are managed by a provincial assembly elected by the people. Every villa or borough throughout the province also possesses its municipal council, and in thinly-populated districts the inhabitants choose every four years a justice of the peace, who adjudicates in small disputes between neighbours. A system of popular education exists, and every village has its school of first letters, the master being paid by the government, the salary amounting to about £70, or the same sum as the priests receive. Besides common schools, a well- endowed classical seminary is maintained at Para, to which the sons of most of the planters and traders in the interior are sent to complete their education. The province returns its quota of members every four years to the lower and upper houses of the imperial parliament. Every householder has a vote. Trial by jury has been established, the jurymen being selected from householders, no matter what their race or colour; and I have seen the white merchant, the negro husbandman, the mameluco, the mulatto, and the Indian, all sitting side by side on the same bench. Altogether the constitution of government in Brazil seems to combine happily the principles of local self-government and centralisation, and only requires a proper degree of virtue and intelligence in the people to lead the nation to great prosperity. The city of Para was founded in 1615, and was a place of considerable importance towards the latter half of the eighteenth century, under the government of the brother of Pombal, the famous Portuguese statesman. The province was the last in Brazil to declare its independence of the mother-country and acknowledge the authority of the first emperor, Don Pedro. This was owing to the great numbers and influence of the Portuguese, and the rage of the native party was so great in consequence, that immediately after independence was proclaimed in 1823, a counter revolution broke out, during which many hundred lives were lost and much hatred engendered. The antagonism continued for many years, partial insurrections taking place when the populace thought that the immigrants from Portugal were favoured by the governors sent from the capital of the empire. At length, in 1835, a serious revolt took place which in a short time involved the entire province. It began by the assassination of the President and the leading members of the government; the struggle was severe, and the native party in an evil hour called to their aid the ignorant and fanatic part of the mongrel and Indian population. The cry of death to the Portuguese was soon changed to death to the freemasons, then a powerfully organised society embracing the greater part of the male white inhabitants. The victorious native party endeavoured to establish a government of their own. After this state of things had endured six months, they accepted a new President sent from Rio Janeiro, who, however, again irritated them by imprisoning their favourite leader, Vinagre. The revenge which followed was frightful. A vast host of half- savage coloured people assembled in the retired creeks behind Para, and on a day fixed, after Vinagre’s brother had sent a message three times to the President demanding, in vain, the release of their leader, the whole body poured into the city through the gloomy pathways of the forest which encircles it. A cruel battle, lasting nine days, was fought in the streets; an English, French, and Portuguese man-of-war, from the side of the river, assisting the legal authorities. All the latter, however, together with every friend of peace and order, were finally obliged to retire to an island a few miles distant. The city and province were given up to anarchy; the coloured people, elated with victory, proclaimed the slaughter of all whites, except the English, French, and American residents. The mistaken principals who had first aroused all this hatred of races were obliged now to make their escape. In the interior, the supporters of lawful authority including, it must be stated, whole tribes of friendly Indians and numbers of the better disposed negroes and mulattos, concentrated themselves in certain strong positions and defended themselves, until the reconquest of the capital and large towns of the interior in 1836 by a force sent from Rio Janeiro– after ten months of anarchy. Years of conciliatory government, the lesson learned by the native party and the moderation of the Portuguese, aided by the indolence and passive goodness of the Paraenses of all classes and colours, were only beginning to produce their good effects about the time I am speaking of. Life, however, was now and had been for some time quite safe throughout the country. Some few of the worst characters had been transported or imprisoned, and the remainder, after being pardoned, were converted once more into quiet and peaceable citizens. The trade, wholesale and retail, was in the hands of the Portuguese, of whom there were about 2500 in the place. Many handicrafts were exercised by coloured people, mulattos, mamelucos, free negroes, and Indians. The better sort of Brazilians dislike the petty details of shop-keeping, and if they cannot be wholesale merchants, prefer the life of planters in the country, however small may be the estate and the gains. The negroes constituted the class of field-labourers and porters; Indians were universally the watermen, and formed the crews of the numberless canoes of all sizes and shapes which traded between Para and the interior. The educated Brazilians, not many of whom are of pure Caucasian descent–for the immigration of Portuguese, for many years, has been almost exclusively of the male sex–are courteous, lively, and intelligent people. They were gradually weaning themselves of the ignorant, bigoted notions which they inherited from their Portuguese ancestors, especially those entertained with regard to the treatment of women. Formerly, the Portuguese would not allow their wives to go into society, or their daughters to learn reading and writing. In 1848, Brazilian ladies were only just beginning to emerge from this inferior position, and Brazilian fathers were opening their eyes to the advantages of education for their daughters. Reforms of this kind are slow. It is, perhaps, in part owing to the degrading position always held by women, that the relations between the sexes were, and are still, on so unsatisfactory a footing, and private morality at so low an ebb, in Brazil. In Para, I believe that an improvement is now taking place, but formerly promiscuous intercourse seemed to be the general rule among all classes, and intrigues and love-making the serious business of the greater part of the population. That this state of things is a necessity depending on the climate and institutions I do not believe, as I have resided at small towns in the interior, where the habits, and the general standard of morality of the inhabitants, were as pure as they are in similar places in England. CHAPTER II PARA The Swampy Forests of Para–A Portuguese Landed Proprietor– Country House at Nazareth–Life of a Naturalist under the Equator–The drier Virgin Forests–Magoary–Retired Creeks– Aborigines After having resided about a fortnight at Mr. Miller’s rocinha, we heard of another similar country-house to be let, much better situated for our purpose, in the village of Nazareth, a mile and a half from the city and close to the forest. The owner was an old Portuguese gentleman named Danin, who lived at his tile manufactory at the mouth of the Una, a small river lying two miles below Para. We resolved to walk to his place through the forest, a distance of three miles, although the road was said to be scarcely passable at this season of the year, and the Una much more easily accessible by boat. We were glad, however, of this early opportunity of traversing the rich swampy forest which we had admired so much from the deck of the ship; so, about eleven o’clock one sunny morning, after procuring the necessary information about the road, we set off in that direction. This part of the forest afterwards became one of my best hunting- grounds. I will narrate the incidents of the walk, giving my first impressions and some remarks on the wonderful vegetation. The forest is very similar on most of the low lands, and therefore, one description will do for all. On leaving the town we walked along a straight, suburban road constructed above the level of the surrounding land. It had low swampy ground on each side, built upon, however, and containing several spacious rocinhas which were embowered in magnificent foliage. Leaving the last of these, we arrived at a part where the lofty forest towered up like a wall five or six yards from the edge of the path to the height of, probably, a hundred feet. The tree trunks were only seen partially here and there, nearly the whole frontage from ground to summit being covered with a diversified drapery of creeping plants, all of the most vivid shades of green; scarcely a flower to be seen, except in some places a solitary scarlet passion-flower set in the green mantle like a star. The low ground on the borders between the forest wall and the road was encumbered with a tangled mass of bushy and shrubby vegetation, amongst which prickly mimosas were very numerous, covering the other bushes in the same way as brambles do in England. Other dwarf mimosas trailed along the ground close to the edge of the road, shrinking at the slightest touch of the feet as we passed by. Cassia trees, with their elegant pinnate foliage and conspicuous yellow flowers, formed a great proportion of the lower trees, and arborescent arums grew in groups around the swampy hollows. Over the whole fluttered a larger number of brilliantly-coloured butterflies than we had yet seen; some wholly orange or yellow (Callidryas), others with excessively elongated wings, sailing horizontally through the air, coloured black, and varied with blue, red, and yellow (Heliconii). One magnificent grassy-green species (Colaenis Dido) especially attracted our attention. Near the ground hovered many other smaller species very similar in appearance to those found at home, attracted by the flowers of numerous leguminous and other shrubs. Besides butterflies, there were few other insects except dragonflies, which were in great numbers, similar in shape to English species, but some of them looking conspicuously different on account of their fiery red colours. After stopping repeatedly to examine and admire, we at length walked onward. The road then ascended slightly, and the soil and vegetation became suddenly altered in character. The shrubs here were grasses, low sedges and other plants, smaller in foliage than those growing in moist grounds. The forest was second growth, low, consisting of trees which had the general aspect of laurels and other evergreens in our gardens at home– the leaves glossy and dark green. Some of them were elegantly veined and hairy (Melastomae), while many, scattered amongst the rest, had smaller foliage (Myrtles), but these were not sufficient to subtract much from the general character of the whole. The sun, now, for we had loitered long on the road, was exceedingly powerful. The day was most brilliant; the sky without a cloud. In fact, it was one of those glorious days which announce the commencement of the dry season. The radiation of heat from the sandy ground was visible by the quivering motion of the air above it. We saw or heard no mammals or birds; a few cattle belonging to an estate down a shady lane were congregated, panting, under a cluster of wide spreading trees. The very soil was hot to our feet, and we hastened onward to the shade of the forest which we could see not far ahead. At length, on entering it, what a relief! We found ourselves in a moderately broad pathway or alley, where the branches of the trees crossed overhead and produced a delightful shade. The woods were at first of recent growth, dense, and utterly impenetrable; the ground, instead of being clothed with grass and shrubs as in the woods of Europe, was everywhere carpeted with Lycopodiums (fern-shaped mosses). Gradually the scene became changed. We descended slightly from an elevated, dry, and sandy area to a low and swampy one; a cool air breathed on our faces, and a mouldy smell of rotting vegetation greeted us. The trees were now taller, the underwood less dense, and we could obtain glimpses into the wilderness on all sides. The leafy crowns of the trees, scarcely two of which could be seen together of the same kind, were now far away above us, in another world as it were. We could only see at times, where there was a break above, the tracery of the foliage against the clear blue sky. Sometimes the leaves were palmate, or of the shape of large outstretched hands; at others, finely cut or feathery, like the leaves of Mimosae. Below, the tree trunks were everywhere linked together by sipos; the woody, flexible stems of climbing and creeping trees, whose foliage is far away above, mingled with that of the taller independent trees. Some were twisted in strands like cables, others had thick stems contorted in every variety of shape, entwining snake-like round the tree trunks, or forming gigantic loops and coils among the larger branches; others, again, were of zigzag shape, or indented like the steps of a staircase, sweeping from the ground to a giddy height. Many of the woody lianas suspended from trees are not climbers, but the air-roots of epiphytous plants (Aroideae), which sit on the stronger boughs of the trees above and hang down straight as plumb-lines. Some are suspended singly, others in clusters; some reach halfway to the ground and others touch it, striking their rootlets into the earth. The underwood in this part of the forest was composed partly of younger trees of the same species as their taller neighbours, and partly of palms of many species, some of them twenty to thirty feet in height, others small and delicate, with stems no thicker than a finger. These latter (different kinds of Bactris) bore small bunches of fruit, red or black, often containing a sweet, grape-like juice. At length we emerged from the forest, on the banks of the Una, near its mouth. It was here about one hundred yards wide. The residence of Senor Danin stood on the opposite shore; a large building, whitewashed and red-tiled as usual, raised on wooden piles above the humid ground. The second story was the part occupied by the family, and along it was an open verandah, where people, both male and female, were at work. Below were several negroesemployed carrying clay on their heads. We called out for a boat, and one of them crossed over to fetch us. Senor Danin received us with the usual formal politeness of the Portuguese, he spoke English very well, and after we had arranged our business, we remained conversing with him on various subjects connected with the country. Like all employers in this province, he was full of one topic–the scarcity of hands. It appeared that he had made great exertions to introduce white labour, but had failed, after having brought numbers of men from Portugal and other countries under engagement to work for him. They all left him one by one soon after their arrival. The abundance of unoccupied land, the liberty that exists, a state of things produced by the half-wild canoe-life of the people, and the case with which a mere subsistence can be obtained with moderate work, tempt even the best-disposed to quit regular labour as soon as they can. He complained also of the dearness of slaves, owing to the prohibition of the African traffic, telling us that formerly a slave could be bought for 120 dollars, whereas they are now difficult to procure at 400 dollars. Mr. Danin told us that he had travelled in England and the United States, and that he had now two sons completing their education in those countries. I afterwards met with many enterprising persons of Mr. Danin’s order, both Brazilians and Portuguese; their great ambition is to make a voyage to Europe or North America, and to send their sons to be educated there. The land on which his establishment is built, he told us, was an artificial embankment on the swamp; the end of the house was built on a projecting point overlooking the river, so that a good view was obtained, from the sitting-rooms, of the city and the shipping. We learned there was formerly a large and flourishing cattle estate on this spot, with an open grassy space like a park. On Sundays, gay parties of forty or fifty persons used to come by land and water, in carriages and gay galliotas, to spend the day with the hospitable owner. Since the political disorders which I have already mentioned, decay had come upon this as on most other large establishments in the country. The cultivated grounds, and the roads leading to them, were now entirely overgrown with dense forest. When we were ready to depart, Senor Danin lent a canoe and two negroes to take us to the city, where we arrived in the evening after a day rich in new experiences. Shortly afterwards, we took possession of our new residence. The house was a square building, consisting of four equal-sized rooms; the tiled roof projected all round, so as to form a broad verandah, cool and pleasant to sit and work in. The cultivated ground, which appeared as if newly cleared from the forest, was planted with fruit trees and small plots of coffee and mandioca. The entrance to the grounds was by an iron-grille gateway from a grassy square, around which were built the few houses and palm- thatched huts which then constituted the village. The most important building was the chapel of our Lady of Nazareth, which stood opposite our place. The saint here enshrined was a great favourite with all orthodox Paraenses, who attributed to her the performance of many miracles. The image was to be seen on the altar, a handsome doll about four feet high, wearing a silver crown and a garment of blue silk, studded with golden stars. In and about the chapel were the offerings that had been made to her, proofs of the miracles which she had performed. There were models of legs, arms, breasts, and so forth, which she had cured. But most curious of all was a ship’s boat, deposited here by the crew of a Portuguese vessel which had foundered, a year or two before our arrival, in a squall off Cayenne; part of them having been saved in the boat, after invoking the protection of the saint here enshrined. The annual festival in honour of our Lady of Nazareth is the greatest of the Para holidays; many persons come to it from the neighbouring city of Maranham, 300 miles distant. Once the President ordered the mail steamer to be delayed two days at Para for the convenience of these visitors. The popularity of the festival is partly owing to the beautiful weather that prevails when it takes place, namely, in the middle of the fine season, on the ten days preceding the full moon in October or November. Para is then seen at its best. The weather is not too dry, for three weeks never follow in succession without a shower; so that all the glory of verdure and flowers can be enjoyed with clear skies. The moonlit nights are then especially beautiful, the atmosphere is transparently clear, and the light sea-breeze produces an agreeable coolness. We now settled ourselves for a few months’ regular work. We had the forest on three sides of us; it was the end of the wet season; most species of birds had finished moulting, and every day the insects increased in number and variety. Behind the rocinha, after several days’ exploration, I found a series of pathways through the woods, which led to the Una road; about half way was the house in which the celebrated travellers Spix and Martius resided during their stay at Para, in 1819. It was now in a neglected condition, and the plantations were overgrown with bushes. The paths hereabout were very productive of insects, and being entirely under shade, were very pleasant for strolling. Close to our doors began the main forest road. It was broad enough for two horsemen abreast, and branched off in three directions; the main line going to the village of Ourem, a distance of fifty miles. This road formerly extended to Maranham, but it had been long in disuse and was now grown up, being scarcely passable between Para and Ourem. Our researches were made in various directions along these paths, and every day produced us a number of new and interesting species. Collecting, preparing our specimens, and making notes, kept us well occupied. One day was so much like another, that a general description of the diurnal round of incidents, including the sequence of natural phenomena, will be sufficient to give an idea of how days pass to naturalists under the equator. We used to rise soon after dawn, when Isidoro would go down to the city, after supplying us with a cup of coffee, to purchase the fresh provisions for the day. The two hours before breakfast were devoted to ornithology. At that early period of the day the sky was invariably cloudless (the thermometer marking 72 or 73 Fahr.); the heavy dew or the previous night’s rain, which lay on the moist foliage, becoming quickly dissipated by the glowing sun, which rising straight out of the east, mounted rapidly towards the zenith. All nature was fresh, new leaf and flower- buds expanding rapidly. Some mornings a single tree would appear in flower amidst what was the preceding evening a uniform green mass of forest–a dome of blossom suddenly created as if by magic. The birds were all active; from the wild-fruit trees, not far off, we often heard the shrill yelping of the Toucans (Ramphastos vitellinus). Small flocks of parrots flew over on most mornings, at a great height, appearing in distinct relief against the blue sky, always two-by-two chattering to each other, the pairs being separated by regular intervals; their bright colours, however, were not apparent at that height. After breakfast we devoted the hours from 10 a.m. to 2 or 3 p.m. to entomology; the best time for insects in the forest being a little before the greatest heat of the day. The heat increased rapidly towards two o’clock (92 and 93 Fahr.), by which time every voice of bird or mammal was hushed; only in the trees was heard at intervals the harsh whirr of a cicada. The leaves, which were so moist and fresh in early morning, now become lax and drooping; the flowers shed their petals. Our neighbours, the Indian and Mulatto inhabitants of the open palm- thatched huts, as we returned home fatigued with our ramble, were either asleep in their hammocks or seated on mats in the shade, too languid even to talk. On most days in June and July a heavy shower would fall some time in the afternoon, producing a most welcome coolness. The approach of the rain-clouds was after a uniform fashion very interesting to observe. First, the cool sea- breeze, which commenced to blow about ten o’clock, and which had increased in force with the increasing power of the sun, would flag and finally die away. The heat and electric tension of the atmosphere would then become almost insupportable. Languor and uneasiness would seize on every one, even the denizens of the forest, betraying it by their motions. White clouds would appear in the cast and gather into cumuli, with an increasing blackness along their lower portions. The whole eastern horizon would become almost suddenly black, and this would spread upwards, the sun at length becoming obscured. Then the rush of a mighty wind is heard through the forest, swaying the tree-tops; a vivid flash of lightning bursts forth, then a crash of thunder, and down streams the deluging rain. Such storms soon cease, leaving bluish-black, motionless clouds in the sky until night. Meantime all nature is refreshed; but heaps of flower-petals and fallen leaves are seen under the trees. Towards evening life revives again, and the ringing uproar is resumed from bush and tree. The following morning the sun again rises in a cloudless sky, and so the cycle is completed; spring, summer, and autumn, as it were, in one tropical day. The days are more or less like this throughout the year in this country. A little difference exists between the dry and wet seasons;but generally, the dry season, which lasts from July to December, isvaried with showers, and the wet, from January to June, with sunny days.It results from this, that the periodical phenomena of plants and animalsdo not take place at about the same time in all species, or in theindividuals of any given species, as they do in temperate countries. Of course there is no hybernation; nor, as the dry season is not excessive, is there any summer torpidity as in some tropical countries. Plants do not flower or shed their leaves, nor do birds moult, pair, or breed simultaneously. In Europe, a woodland scene has its spring, its summer, its autumn, and its winter aspects. In the equatorial forests the aspect is the same or nearly so every day in the year: budding, flowering, fruiting, and leaf shedding are always going on in one species or other. The activity of birds and insects proceeds without interruption, each species having its own separate times; the colonies of wasps, for instance, do not die off annually, leaving only the queens, as in cold climates; but the succession of generations and colonies goes on incessantly. It is never either spring, summer, or autumn, but each day is a combination of all three. With the day and night always of equal length, the atmospheric disturbances of each day neutralising themselves before each succeeding morn; with the sun in its course proceeding midway across the sky, and the daily temperature the same within two or three degrees throughout the year–how grand in its perfect equilibrium and simplicity is the march of Nature under the equator! Our evenings were generally fully employed preserving our collections, and making notes. We dined at four, and took tea about seven o’clock. Sometimes we walked to the city to see Brazilian life or enjoy the pleasures of European and American society. And so the time passed away from June 15th to August 26th. During this period we made two excursions of greater length to the rice and saw-mills of Magoary, an establishment owned by an American gentleman, Mr. Upton, situated on the banks of a creek in the heart of the forest, about twelve miles from Para. I will narrate some of the incidents of these excursions, and give an account of the more interesting observations made on the Natural History and inhabitants of these interior creeks and forests. Our first trip to the mills was by land. The creek on whose banks they stand, the Iritiri, communicates with the river Pars, through another larger creek, the Magoary; so that there is a passage by water; but this is about twenty miles round. We started at sunrise, taking Isidoro with us. The road plunged at once into the forest after leaving Nazareth, so that in a few minutes we were enveloped in shade. For some distance the woods were of second growth, the original forest near the town having been formerly cleared or thinned. They were dense and impenetrable on account of the close growth of the young trees and the mass of thorny shrubs and creepers. These thickets swarmed with ants and ant-thrushes; they were also frequented by a species of puff-throated manikin, a little bird which flies occasionally across the road, emitting a strange noise, made, I believe, with its wings, and resembling the clatter of a small wooden rattle. A mile or a mile and a half further on, the character of the woods began to change, and we then found ourselves in the primaeval forest. The appearance was greatly different from that of the swampy tract I have already described. The land was rather more elevated and undulating; the many swamp plants with their long and broad leaves were wanting, and there was less underwood, although the trees were wider apart. Through this wilderness the road continued for seven or eight miles. The same unbroken forest extends all the way to Maranham and in other directions, as we were told, a distance of about 300 miles southward and eastward of Para. In almost every hollow part the road was crossed by a brook, whose cold, dark, leaf-stained waters were bridged over by tree trunks. The ground was carpeted, as usual, by Lycopodiums, but it was also encumbered with masses of vegetable debris and a thick coating of dead leaves. Fruits of many kinds were scattered about, amongst which were many sorts of beans, some of the pods a foot long, flat and leathery in texture, others hard as stone. In one place there was a quantity of large empty wooden vessels, which Isidoro told us fell from the Sapucaya tree. They are called Monkey’s drinking-cups (Cuyas de Macaco), and are the capsules which contain the nuts sold under the name just mentioned, in Covent Garden Market. At the top of the vessel is a circular hole, in which a natural lid fits neatly. When the nuts are ripe this lid becomes loosened and the heavy cup falls with a crash, scattering the nuts over the ground. The tree which yields the nut (Lecythis ollaria), is of immense height. It is closely allied to the Brazil-nut tree (Bertholletia excelsa), whose seeds are also enclosed in large woody vessels; but these have no lid, and fall to the ground intact. This is the reason why the one kind of nut is so much dearer than the other. The Sapucaya is not less abundant, probably, than the Bertholletia, but its nuts in falling are scattered about and eaten by wild animals; whilst the full, whole capsules of Brazil-nuts are collected by the natives. What attracted us chiefly were the colossal trees. The general run of trees had not remarkably thick stems; the great and uniform height to which they grow without emitting a branch, was a much more noticeable feature than their thickness; but at intervals of a furlong or so a veritable giant towered up. Only one of these monstrous trees can grow within a given space; it monopolises the domain, and none but individuals of much inferior size can find a footing near it. The cylindrical trunks of these larger trees were generally about twenty to twenty-five feet in circumference. Von Martius mentions having measured trees in the Para district belonging to various species (Symphonia coccinea, Lecythis sp. and Crataeva Tapia), which were fifty to sixty feet in girth at the point where they become cylindrical. The height of the vast column-like stems could not be less than 100 feet from the ground to their lowest branch. Mr. Leavens, at the sawmills, told me they frequently squared logs for sawing a hundred feet long, of the Pao d’Arco and the Massaranduba. The total height of these trees, stem and crown together, may be estimated at from 180 to 200 feet; where one of them stands, the vast dome of foliage rises above the other forest trees as a domed cathedral does above the other buildings in a city. A very remarkable feature in these trees is the growth of buttress-shaped projections around the lower part of their stems. The spaces between these buttresses, which are generally thin walls of wood, form spacious chambers, and may be compared to stalls in a stable; some of them are large enough to hold a half- dozen persons. The purpose of these structures is as obvious, at the first glance, as that of the similar props of brickwork which support a high wall. They are not peculiar to one species, but are common to most of the larger forest trees. Their nature and manner of growth are explained when a series of young trees of different ages is examined. It is then seen that they are the roots which have raised themselves ridge-like out of the earth; growing gradually upwards as the increasing height of the tree required augmented support. Thus, they are plainly intended to sustain the massive crown and trunk in these crowded forests, where lateral growth of the roots in the earth is rendered difficult by the multitude of competitors. The other grand forest trees whose native names we learned, were the Moiratinga (the White or King tree), probably the same as, or allied to, the Mora Excelsa, which Sir Robert Schomburgh discovered in British Guiana; the Samauma (Eriodendron Samauma) and the Massaranduba, or Cow tree. The last-mentioned is the most remarkable. We had already heard a good deal about this tree, and about its producing from its bark a copious supply of milk as pleasant to drink as that of the cow. We had also eaten its fruit in Para, where it is sold in the streets by negro market women; and had heard a good deal of the durableness in water of its timber. We were glad, therefore, to see this wonderful tree growing in its native wilds. It is one of the largest of the forest monarchs, and is peculiar in appearance on account of its deeply-scored reddish and ragged bark. A decoction of the bark, I was told, is used as a red dye for cloth. A few days afterwards we tasted its milk, which was drawn from dry logs that had been standing many days in the hot sun, at the saw-mills. It was pleasant with coffee, but had a slight rankness when drunk pure; it soon thickens to a glue, which is excessively tenacious, and is often used to cement broken crockery. I was told that it was not safe to drink much of it, for a slave had recently nearly lost his life through taking it too freely. We were disappointed also in not meeting with any of the larger animals in the forest. There was no tumultuous movement, or sound of life. We did not see or hear monkeys, and no tapir or jaguar crossed our path. Birds, also, appeared to be exceedingly scarce. We heard, however, occasionally, the long-drawn, wailing note of the Inambu, a kind of partridge (Crypturus cincreus?); and, also, in the hollows on the banks, of the rivulets, the noisynotes of another bird, which seemed to go in pairs, amongst the tree-tops, calling to each other as they went. These notes resounded through the wilderness. Another solitary bird had a most sweet and melancholy song; it consisted simply of a few notes, uttered in a plaintive key, commencing high, and descending by harmonic intervals. It was probably a species of warbler of the genus Trichas. All these notes of birds are very striking and characteristic of the forest. We often read, in books of travels, of the silence and gloom of the Brazilian forests. They are realities, and the impression deepens on a longer acquaintance. The few sounds of birds are of that pensive or mysterious character which intensifies the feeling of solitude rather than imparts a sense of life and cheerfulness. Sometimes, in the midst of the stillness, a sudden yell or scream will startle one; this comes from some defenseless fruit-eating animal, which is pounced upon by a tiger-cat or stealthy boa-constrictor. Morning and evening the howling monkeys make a most fearful and harrowing noise, under which it is difficult to keep up one’s buoyancy of spirit. The feeling of inhospitable wildness, which the forest is calculated to inspire, is increased tenfold under this fearful uproar. Often, even in the still hours of midday, a sudden crash will be heard resounding afar through the wilderness, as some great bough or entire tree falls to the ground. There are, besides, many sounds which it is impossible to account for. I found the natives generally as much at a loss in this respect as myself. Sometimes a sound is heard like the clang of an iron bar against a hard, hollow tree, or a piercing cry rends the air; these are not repeated, and the succeeding silence tends to heighten the unpleasant impression which they make on the mind. With the native it is always the Curupira, the wild man or spirit of the forest, which produces all noises they are unable to explain. For myths are the rude theories which mankind, in the infancy of knowledge, invent to explain natural phenomena. The Curupira is a mysterious being, whose attributes are uncertain, for they vary according to locality. Sometimes he is described as a kind of orangutang, being covered with long, shaggy hair, and living in trees. At others, he is said to have cloven feet and a bright red face. He has a wife and children, and sometimes comes down to the rocas to steal the mandioca. At one time I had a Mameluco youth in my service, whose head was full of the legends and superstitions of the country. He always went with me into the forest; in fact, I could not get him to go alone, and whenever we heard any of the strange noises mentioned above. he used to tremble with fear. He would crouch down behind me, and beg of me to turn back; his alarm ceasing only after he had made a charm to protect us from the Curupira. For this purpose, he took a young palm leaf, plaited it, and formed it into a ring, which he hung to a branch on our track. At length, after a six hour walk, we arrived at our destination, the last mile or two having been again through second-growth forest. The mills formed a large pile of buildings, pleasantly situated in a cleared tract of land, many acres in extent, and everywhere surrounded by the perpetual forest. We were received in the kindest manner by the overseer, Mr. Leavens, who showed us all that was interesting about the place, and took us to the best spots in the neighbourhood for birds and insects. The mills were built a long time ago by a wealthy Brazilian. They had belonged to Mr. Upton for many years. I was told that when the dark-skinned revolutionists were preparing for their attack on Para, they occupied the place, but not the slightest injury was done to the machinery or building, for the leaders said it was against the Portuguese and their party that they were at war, not against the other foreigners. The Iritiri Creek at the mills is only a few yards wide; it winds about between two lofty walls of forest for some distance, then becomes much broader, and finally joins the Magoary. There are many other ramifications, creeks or channels, which lead to retired hamlets and scattered houses, inhabited by people of mixed white, Indian, and negro descent. Many of them did business with Mr. Leavens, bringing for sale their little harvests of rice, or a few logs of timber. It was interesting to see them in their little, heavily-laden montarias. Sometimes the boats were managed by handsome, healthy young lads, loosely clad in a straw hat, white shirt, and dark blue trousers, turned up to the knee. They steered, paddled, and managed the varejao (the boating pole), with much grace and dexterity. We made many excursions down the Iritiri, and saw much of these creeks; besides, our second visit to the mills was by water. The Magoary is a magnificent channel; the different branches form quite a labyrinth, and the land is everywhere of little elevation. All these smaller rivers, throughout the Para Estuary, are of the nature of creeks. The land is so level, that the short local rivers have no sources and downward currents like rivers as we generally understand them. They serve the purpose of draining the land, but instead of having a constant current one way, they have a regular ebb and flow with the tide. The natives call them, in the Tupi language, Igarapes, or canoe-paths. The igarapes and furos or channels, which are infinite in number in this great river delta, are characteristic of the country. The land is everywhere covered with impenetrable forests; the houses and villages are all on the waterside, and nearly all communication is by water. This semi-aquatic life of the people is one of the most interesting features of the country. For short excursions, and for fishing in still waters, a small boat, called montaria, is universally used. It is made of five planks; a broad one for the bottom, bent into the proper shape by the action of heat, two narrow ones for the sides, and two small triangular pieces for stem and stern. It has no rudder; the paddle serves for both steering and propelling. The montaria takes here the place of the horse, mule, or camel of other regions. Besides one or more montarias, almost every family has a larger canoe, called igarite. This is fitted with two masts, a rudder, and keel, and has an arched awning or cabin near the stern, made of a framework of tough lianas thatched with palm leaves. In the igarite they will cross stormy rivers fifteen or twenty miles broad. The natives are all boat-builders. It is often remarked, by white residents, that an Indian is a carpenter and shipwright by intuition. It is astonishing to see in what crazy vessels these people will risk themselves. I have seen Indians cross rivers in a leaky montaria, when it required the nicest equilibrium to keep the leak just above water; a movement of a hair’s breadth would send all to the bottom, but they managed to cross in safety. They are especially careful when they have strangers under their charge, and it is the custom of Brazilian and Portuguese travellers to leave the whole management to them. When they are alone they are more reckless, and often have to swim for their lives. If a squall overtakes them as they are crossing in a heavily-laden canoe, they all jump overboard and swim about until the heavy sea subsides, then they re-embark.