forest bees, belonging to the genera Melipona and Euglossa, are more frequently seen feeding on the sweet sap which exudes from the trees, or on the excrement of birds on leaves, than on flowers.

The annual, periodical, and diurnal cycle of phenomena, in the primeval forest, are all worthy of notice. As in all intertropical regions, the season is pretty nearly always the same, and there is no winter and summer; the periodical phenomena of plants and animals do not take place at about the same time in all species, or in the individuals 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 estivation, 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 autumnal, and its winter aspects. In the equatorial forests the aspect is the same, or nearly so, every day in the year-a circumstance which imparts additional interest to the diurnal cycle of phenomena-budding, flowering, fruiting, and leaf-shedding, are always going on in one species or another. 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 graud in its perfect equilibrium and simplicity is the march of Nature under such peculiar circumstances!

At break of day the sky is, for the most part, cloudless. The thermometer ranges from 72 to 73 deg. Fahr., which is not oppressive. The heavy dew, or the previous night's rain, which lies on the moist foliage, is quickly dissipated by the glowing sun, which rising straight out of the east, mounts rapidly towards the zenith. All nature is refreshed, new leaf and flower-buds expanding rapidly. Some mornings a single tree will appear in flower, amidst what was the preceding evening a uniform mass of green forest-a dome of blossom suddenly created as if by magic. The birds all come into life and activity, and the shrill yelping of the toucans makes itself more especially heard. Small flocks of parrots take to wing, 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, not apparent at that height. The only insects that appear in great numbers are ants, termites, and social wasps; and in the open grounds, dragon-flies.

The heat increases rapidly up to two o'clock, when the thermometer attains an average of from 92 to 93 deg. Fahr., and by that time every voice of mammal or bird is hushed; only on the trees the harsh whirr of the cicada is heard at intervals. The leaves, which were so moist and fresh in early morning, become lax and drooping; the flowers shed their petals. The Indian and mulatto inhabitants of the open palm-thatched huts are 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

falls, sometimes in the afternoon, producing a most welcome coolness. The approach of the rain-clouds is 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 then becomes almost insupportable. Languor and uneasiness seize on every one; even the denizens of the forest betraying it by their motions. White clouds appear in the east, and gather into cumuli, with an increasing blackness along their lower portions. The whole eastern horizon becomes almost suddenly black, and this spreads 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 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. A little difference exists between the dry and wet seasons; but generally the dry season, which lasts from July to December, is varied with showers, and the wet from January to June, with sunny days.

We often read, in books of travels, of the silence and gloom of the primeval forest. They are-Mr. Bates adds his testimony to the factrealities, and the impression, he says, 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 defenceless 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 hour of mid-day, 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. Mr. Bates found the natives, generally, as much at a loss in this respect as himself. 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 natives it is always the "Curupira," the wild man, or Spirit of the Forest, which produces all noises they are unable to account 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 uran-utan, 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 has been even

known to come down to the roças to steal the mandioco. "At one time," Mr. Bates relates, "I had a Mameluco (cross-breed) 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. He became easy 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."

With all these drawbacks, there is plenty, in the contemplation or exploration of the primeval forest, to counteract any unpleasant impression which these various phenomena, and especially the reckless energy of the vegetation, might produce. There is the incomparable beauty and variety of the foliage, the vivid colours, the richness and exuberance everywhere displayed, which makes the richest woodland scenery in northern Europe a sterile desert in comparison. But it is especially the enjoyment of life manifested by individual existences which compensates for the destruction and pain caused by the inevitable competition. Although this competition is nowhere more active, and the dangers to which each individual is exposed nowhere more numerous, yet nowhere is this enjoyment more vividly displayed. If vegetation had feeling, its vigorous and rapid growth, uninterrupted by the cold sleep of winter, would, one would think, be productive of pleasure to its individuals.

In animals, the mutual competition may be greater, the predacious species more constantly on the alert than in temperate climates; but there is, at the same time, no severe periodical struggle with inclement seasons. In sunny nooks, and at certain seasons, the trees and the air are gay with birds and insects, all in the full enjoyment of existence; the warmth, the sunlight, and the abundance of food producing their results in the animation and sportiveness of the beings congregated together. We ought not to leave out of sight, too, the sexual decorations-the brilliant colours and ornamentation of the males, which, although existing in the fauna of all climates, reach a higher degree of perfection in the tropics than elsewhere. This seems to point to the pleasures of the pairing seasons. "I think," Mr. Bates remarks upon this, “it is a childish notion that the beauty of birds, insects, and other creatures is given to please the human eye. A little observation and reflection show that this cannot be the case, else why should one sex only be richly ornamented, the other clad in plain drab and grey? Surely, rich plumage and song, like all the other endowments of species, are given them for their own pleasure and advantage. This, if true, ought to enlarge our ideas of the inner life and mutual relations of our humbler fellow-creatures."

Such, then, are the main and leading features of the primeval forest: The impenetrability of this "forêt vierge" par excellence; its non-adaptability to human existence; the rivalry of vegetation; the climbing plants and animals; the few insects, and especially the freedom from mosquitoes; the marsh forest as contradistinguished from the upland forest; the colossal trees with their huge buttresses and pendent air-plants (a forest on a forest); the various underwood and struggling lianas; the

absence of flowers; the unvarying character of the annual, periodical, and diurnal cycle of phenomena; the silence and the gloom broken by mysterious and hitherto unexplained sounds; and the sources of enjoyment to be derived from the beauty and variety, richness and exuberance, and the vivid sense of existence with which all living creatures are endowed.

But there are also other and various phenomena which belong to the details of the same extensive regions, and which enter more particularly into a narrative of local explorations. Mr. Bates arrived with Mr. Wallace at Para on the 28th of May, 1848. This city is hemmed in by the perpetual forest on all sides landwards, 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 building, all sharply defined against the clear blue sky, give an appearance of lightness and cheerfulness which is most exhilarating. There are also picturesque countryhouses to be seen scattered about, half buried in luxuriant foliage. On landing, however, the hot, moist, mouldy air, which seemed to strike from the ground and walls, reminded our explorer of the atmosphere of the tropical stoves at Kew. The merchants and shopkeepers dwelt in tall, gloomy, convent-looking buildings near the port; the poorer class, Europeans, negroes, and Indians, with an uncertain mixture of the three, in houses of one story only, of an irregular and mean appearance. Here, were idle soldiers, dressed in shabby uniforms, carrying their muskets carelessly over their arms; there, were priests, and negresses with red water-jars on their heads, and sad-looking Indian women carrying their naked children astride on their hips. Amongst the latter were several handsome women, dressed in a slovenly manner, barefoot or shod in loose slippers, but wearing richly decorated earrings, and round their necks strings of very large gold beads. They had dark expressive eyes, and remarkably rich heads of hair. "It was a mere fancy," Mr. Bates says, "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 everywhere visible. The wooden palings which surrounded the weed-grown gardens were strewn about broken; and hogs, goats, and ill-fed poultry wandered in and out through the gaps. But amidst all, and compensating every defect, in the eyes of a naturalist, rose the overpowering beauty of the vegetation. Mangoes, oranges, lemons, dates, palms, bananas, and pine-apples are among the common fruits. There were also all kinds of noises by day and by night, cicadas, crickets, and grasshoppers rivalling the plaintive hooting of treefrogs. This uproar of life never ceases, night nor day, and is one of the peculiarities of a Brazilian climate. The stranger becomes accustomed to it after a time; but Mr. Bates says that, after his return to England, the death-like stillness of summer days in the country appeared to him as strange as the ringing uproar did on his first arrival at Para.

The first walks were naturally directed to the suburbs of Para, through avenues of silk and cotton trees, cocoa-nut palms, and almond-trees. Much was found to interest our naturalists in their first explorations, the more especially as the species of animals and plants differed widely in

the open country from what are met with in the dense primeval forests. Parroquets, humming-birds, vultures, flycatchers, finches, ant-thrushes, tanagers, japirus, and other birds abounded. The tanagers represent our house sparrows. Geckos and other lizards are met with at every step. The gardens afforded fine showy butterflies and other insects. The most remarkable and obnoxious of this tribe were, however, the ants. Of these, two species make themselves more particularly obnoxious. One of these is a giant, an inch and a quarter in length, and stout in proportion. The other is the saüba-the pest of Brazil-whose underground abodes are very extensive. The Rev. H. Clark has related that the sauba of Rio de Janeiro has excavated a tunnel under the bed of the river Parahyba, at a place where it is as broad as the Thames at London-bridge. These are the Brunels of the insect world. Besides injuring and destroying young trees, the saüba ant is most troublesome to the inhabitants, from its habit of plundering the stores of provisions in houses at night.

Mr. Bates speaks of Para-albeit a tropical city-as very healthy. English residents, who had been established there twenty or thirty years, looked almost as fresh in colour as if they had never left their native country. "The equable temperature, the perpetual verdure, the coolness of the dry season when the sun's heat is tempered by the strong seabreezes, and the moderation of the periodical rains, make," he says, "the climate one of the most enjoyable on the face of the earth.” ever, exposed to fearful attacks of epidemics.

It is, how

The original Indian tribes of the district are now either civilised, or have amalgamated with the white and negro immigrants. Their distinguishing tribal names have long been forgotten, and the race bears now the general appellation of Tapuyo, which seems to have been one of the names of the ancient Tupinambas. The Indians of the interior, still remaining in the savage state, are called by the Brazilians, Indios or Gentios (heathens). All the semi-civilised Tapuyos speak the Lingoa Geral-a language adapted by the Jesuit missionaries from the original idiom of the Tupinambas. The language of the Guaranis, living on the Paraguay, is a dialect of it, and hence it is called by philologists the Tupi-Guarani language; printed grammars of it are always on sale at the shops of the Para booksellers. The fact of one language having been spoken over so wide an extent of country as that from the Amazons to Paraguay, is quite an isolated one, and points to considerable migrations of the Indian tribes in former times. At present the languages spoken by neighbouring tribes on the banks of the interior rivers are totally distinct; on the Juara, even, scattered hordes belonging to the same tribe are not able to understand each other.

The mixed breeds, which now form, probably, the greater part of the population of the province of Para, have each a distinguishing name. Mameluco denotes the offspring of White with Indian; Mulatto, that of White with Negro; Cafuzo, the mixture of the Indian and Negro; Curiboco, the cross between the Cafuzo and the Indian; Xibaro, that between the Cafuzo and Negro. These crosses are seldom, however, well demarcated, and all shades of colour exist; the names are generally only applied approximatively. The term Creole is confined to negroes born in the country. Trade and planting is chiefly in the hands of the