The pools I have mentioned were tenanted by a considerable variety of insects.* I found also a very large number, chiefly of carnivorous land-beetles, under the pebbles and rejectamenta along the edge of the water during my many rambles. I was much struck with the similarity

The water-beetles found in the pools belonged to seventeen genera, thirteen of which are European. Those European genera which form the greater part of the pond population in Coleoptera in northern latitudes are quite absent in the Amazons region: these are, Haliplus, Cnemidotus, Pelobius, Noterus, Ilybius, Agabus, Colym-betes, Dyticus, and Acilius: Hydropori, also, are very rare. The most common species belong to the genera Hydracanthus, Copelatus, Cybister, Tropisternus, and Berosus, three of which are unknown in Europe.

of the Dragon-flies (whose early states are passed in the water) to those of Britain. A species of Libellula with pointed tail, which darted about over the bushes near the ponds, is very closely allied to our English L. quadrimaculata. But the resemblance was greater in the small, slender-bodied and slow-flying species, the Agrions, which every lover of rural walks must have noticed in England by river sides. There was one pretty kind, with a pale blue ring at the top of the body, which resembled to a remarkable degree acommon British species. Although very near akin, neither this nor any of the other kinds were perfectly identical with European ones. ‘The strikingly peculiar dragon-flies from Tropical America which are seen in our collections are denizens of the forest, being bred in the shady brooks and creeks in their recesses, and not in the weedy ponds of open places. Some of these forest species are strange creatures, with slender bodies measuring seven inches in length; their elegant lacework wings tipped with white or yellow. They fly slowly amongst the trees, preying on small Diptera, and in their flight look like animated spindles; the wings, placed at the fore extremity of the long, horizontally-extended body, moving rapidly and creating the impression of rotary motion.

Whilst resting in the shade during the great heat of the early hours of afternoon, I used to find amusement in watching the proceedings of the sand wasps. A small pale green kind of Bembex (Bembex ciliata) was plentiful near the bay of Mapiri. When they are at work, a number of little jets of sand are seen shooting over the surface of the sloping bank. The little miners excavate with their fore feet, which are strongly built and furnished with a fringe of stiff bristles; they work with wonderful rapidity, and the sand thrown out beneath their bodies issues in continuous streams. They are solitary wasps, each female working on her own account. After making a gallery two or three inches in length, in a slanting direction from the surface, the owner backs out, and takes a few turns round the orifice, apparently to see whether it is well made, but in reality, I believe, to take note of the locality, that she may find it again. This done, the busy workwoman flies away; but returns, after an absence varying in different cases from a few minutes to an hour or more, with a fly in her grasp, with which she re-enters her mine. On again emerging, the entrance is carefully closed with sand. During this interval she has laid an egg on the body of the fly, which she had previously benumbed with her sting, and which is to serve as food for the soft footless grub soon to be hatched from the egg. From what I could make out, the Bembex makes a fresh excavation for every egg to be deposited; at least, in two or three of the galleries which I opened there was only one fly enclosed.

I have said that the Bembex on leaving her mine took note of the locality: this seemed to be the explanation of the short delay previous to her taking flight; on rising in the air, also, the insects generally flew round over the place before making straight off. Another nearly allied, but much larger species, the Monedula signata, whose habits I observed on the banks of the Upper Amazons, sometimes excavates its mine solitarily on sandbanks recently laid bare in the middle of the river, and closes the orifice before going in search of prey. In these cases

the insect has to make a journey of at least half a mile to procure the kind of fly, the Mottica (Hadaiis lepidotus), with which it provisions its cell. I often noticed it to take a few turns in the air round the place before starting; on its return it made without hesitation straight for the closed mouth of the mine. I was convinced that the insects noted the bearings of their nests, and the direction they took in flying from them. The proceeding in this and similar cases (I have read of something analogous having been noticed in hive bees) seems to be a mental act of the same nature as that which takes place in ourselves when recog-nising a locality. The senses, however, must be immeasurably more keen, and the mental operation much more certain, in them than they are in man; for to my eye there was absolutely no landmark on the even surface of sand which could serve as guide, and the borders of the forest were not nearer than half a mile. ‘The action of the wasp would be said to be instinctive; but it seems plain that the instinct is no mysterious and unintelligible agent, but a mental process in each individual, differing from the same in man only by its unerring certainty. The mind of the insect appears to be so constituted that the impression of external objects, or the want felt, causes it to act with a precision which seems to us like that of a machine constructed to move in a certain given way. I have noticed in Indian boys a sense of locality almost as keen as that possessed by the sand-wasp. An old Portuguese and myself, accompanied by a young lad about ten years of age, were once lost in the forest in a most solitary place on the banks of the main river. Our case seemed hopeless, and it did not for some time occur to us to consult our little companion, who had been playing with his bow and arrow all the way whilst we were hunting, apparently taking no note of the route. When asked, however, he pointed out, in a moment, the right direction of our canoe. He could not explain how he knew; I believe he had noted the course we had taken almost unconsciously. The sense of locality in his case seemed instinctive.

The Monedula signata is a good friend to traveilers in those parts of the Amazons which are infested with the blood-thirsty Mottica. I first noticed its habit of preying on this fly one day when we landed to make our fire and dine on the borders of the forest adjoining a sandbank. The insect is as large as a hornet, and has a most waspish appearance. I was rather startled when one out of the flock which was hovering about us flew straight at my face: it had espied a Mottica on my neck, and was thus pouncing upon it. It seizes the fly not with its mandibles, but with its fore and middle feet, and carries it off tightly held to its breast. Wherever the traveller lands in the Upper Amazons in the neighbourhood of a sandbank, he is sure to be attended by one or more of these useful vermin-killers.

The bay of Mapirf was the limit of my day excursions by the riverside, to the west of Santarem. A person may travel, however, on foot, as Indians frequently do, in the dry season for fifty or sixty miles along the broad clean sandy beaches of the Tapajos. The only obstacles are the rivulets, most of which are fordable when the waters are low. To the east my rambles extended to the banks of the Mahica inlet. This

enters the Amazons about three miles below Santarem, where the clear stream of the Tapajos begins to be discoloured by the turbid waters of the main river. The broad, placid channel of the Mahica separates the Tapajos mainland from the alluvial low lands of the great river plain. It communicates in the interior with other inlets, and the whole forms a system of inland water-paths navigable by small vessels from Santarem to the river Curua, forty miles distant. The Mahica has a broad margin of rich level pasture, limited on each side by the straight, tall hedge of forest. On the Santarem side it is skirted by high wooded ridges. A landscape of this description always produced in me an impression of sadness and loneliness, which the riant virgin forests that closely hedge in most of the by-waters of the Amazons never created. The pastures are destitute of flowers, and also of animal life, with the exception of a few small plain-coloured birds and solitary Caracara eagles, whining from the topmost branches of dead trees on the forest borders. A few setilers have built their palm-thatched and mud-walled huts on the banks of the Mahica, and occupy themselves chiefly in tending small herds of cattle. They seemed to be all wretchedly poor. The oxen, however, though small, were sleek and fat, and the district most promising for agricultural and pastoral employments. In the wet season the waters gradualiy rise and cover the meadows, but there is plenty of room for the removal of the cattle to higher ground. The lazy and ignorant people seem totally unable to profit by these advantages. The houses have no gardens or plantations near them. I was told it was useless to plant anything, because the cattle devoured the young shoots. In this country grazing and planting are very rarely carried on together, for the people seem to have no notion of enclosing patches of ground for cultivation. They say it is too much trouble to make enclosures. The “construction of a durable fence is certainly a difficult matter, for it is only two or three kinds of tree which will serve the purpose in being free from the attacks of insects, and these are scattered far and wide through the woods. In one place, where there was a pretty bit of pasture surrounded by woods, I found a grazier established, who supplied Santarem daily with milk. He was a strong, wiry half-breed, a man endowed with a little more energy than his neighbours, and really a hard-working fellow. The land was his own, and the dozen or so well-conditioned cows which grazed upon it. It was melancholy, however, to see the miserable way in which the man lived. His house, a mere barn, scarcely protecting its owner from the sun and rain, was not much better built or furnished than an Indian’s hut. He complained that it was impossible to induce any of the needy free people to work for wages. The poor fellow led a dull, solitary life; he had no family, and his wife had left him for some cause or other. He was up every morning by four o’clock, milked his cows with the help of a neighbour, and carried the day’s yield to the town in stone bottles packed in leather bags on horseback by sunrise. His wretched little farm produced nothing else. The house stood in the middle of the bare pasture, without garden or any sort of plantation; a group of stately palms stood close by, to the trunks of which he secured the cows whilst milking. Butter-making is unknown in

this country; the milk, I was told, is too poor; it is very rare indeed to see even the thinnest coating of cream on it, and the yield for each cow is very small. Our dairyman had to bring from Santarem every morning the meat, bread, and vegetables for the day’s consumption. The other residents of Mahicd were not even so well off as this man. I always had to bring my own provisions when I came this way, for a perennial famine seemed to reign in the place. I could not help picturing to myself the very different aspect this fertile tract of country would wear if it were peopled by a few families of agricultural settlers from Northern Europe. Although the meadows were unproductive ground to a Naturalist, the woods on their borders teemed with life; the number and variety of curious insects of all orders which occurred here was quite wonderful. The belt of forest was intersected by numerous pathways leading from one settler’s house to another. The ground was moist, but the trees were not so lofty or their crowns so densely packed together as in other parts; the sun’s light and heat therefore had freer access to the soil, and the underwood was much more diversified than in the virgin forest. I never saw so many kinds of dwarf palms together as here: pretty miniature species; some not more than five feet high, and bearing little clusters of round fruit not larger than a good bunch of currants. A few of the forest trees had the size and strongly-branched figures of our oaks, and asimilar bark. One noble palm grew here in great abundance, and gave a distinctive character to the district. This was the Ginocarpus distichus, one of the kinds called Bacaba by the natives. It grows to a height of forty to fifty feet. ‘The crown is of a lustrous dark-green colour, and of a singularly flattened or compressed shape; the leaves being arranged on each side in nearly the same plane. When I first saw this tree on the campos, where the east wind blows with great force night and day for several months, I thought the shape of the crown was due to the leaves being prevented from radiating equally by the constant action of the breezes. But the plane of growth is not always in the direction of the wind, and the crown has the same shape when the tree grows in the sheltered woods. ‘The fruit of this fine palm ripens towards the end of the year, and is much esteemed by the natives, who manufacture a pleasant drink from it similar to the assai described in a former chapter, by rubbing off the coat of pulp from the nuts, and mixing it with water. A bunch of fruit weighs thirty or forty pounds. The beverage has a milky appearance, and an agreeable nutty flavour. The tree is very difficult to climb, on account of the smoothness of its stem; consequently the natives, whenever they want a bunch of fruit for a bowl of Bacdba, cut down and thus destroy a tree which has taken a score or two of years to grow, in order to get at it.

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