We saw nothing of the white Caiardra; we met, however, with a flock of the common light-brown allied species (Cebus albifrons?), and killed one asaspecimen. A resident on this side of the river told us that the white kind was found further to the south, beyond Santa Cruz. The light-brown Caiardra is pretty generally distributed over the forests of the level country. I saw it very frequently on the banks of the Upper Amazons, where it was always a treat to watch a flock leaping amongst the trees, for it is the most wonderful performer in this line of the whole tribe. The troops consist of thirty or more individuals, which travel in single file. When the foremost of the flock reaches the outermost branch of an unusually lofty tree, he springs forth into the air without a moment’s hesitation, and alights on the dome of yielding foliage belonging to the neighbouring tree, maybe fifty feet beneath: all the rest following the example. They grasp, on falling, with hands and tail, right themselves in a moment, and then away they go along branch and bough to the next tree. The Caiardra owes its name in the Tupi language, macaw or large-headed (Acain, head, and Ardara, macaw), to the disproportionate size of the head compared with the rest of the body. It is very frequently kept as a pet in houses of natives. I kept one myself for about a year, which accompanied me in my voyages and became very familiar, coming to me always on wet nights to share my blanket. It is a most restless creature, but is not playful like most of the American monkeys; the restlessness of its disposition seeming to arise from great nervous irritability and discontent. The anxious, painful, changeable expression of its countenance, and the want of purpose in its movements, betray this. Its actions are like those of a wayward child; it does not seem happy even when it has plenty of its favourite food, bananas; but will leave its own meal to snatch the morsels out of the hands of its companions. It differs in these mental traits from its nearest kindred, for another common Cebus, found in the same parts of the forest, the Prego monkey (Cebus cirrhifer?), is a much quieter and better-tempered animal; it is full of tricks, but these are generally of a playful character.

The Caiardra keeps the house in a perpetual uproar where it is kept: when alarmed, or hungry, or excited by envy, it screams piteously; it is always, however, making some noise or other, often screwing up its mouth and uttering a succession of loud notes resembling a whistle. My little pet, when loose, used to run after me, supporting itself for some distance on its hind legs, without, however, having been taught to do it. He offended me greatly, one day, by killing, in one of his jealous fits, another and much choicer pet—the nocturnal owl-faced monkey (Nyctipithecus trivirgatus). Some one had given this a fruit, which the other coveted, so the two got to quarrelling. The Nyctipithecus fought only with its paws, clawing out and hissing like a cat; the other soon obtained the mastery, and before I could interfere, finished his rival by cracking its skull with his teeth. Upon this I got rid of him.

After a ramble of four or five hours, during which José shot a beautiful green and black-striped lizard of the Iguana family from the trunk of a tree, and I filled my insect box with new and rare species (including an extremely beautiful butterfly of the genus Heliconius, H. Hermathena), we rejoined our companions at a hut, in the middle of the campo, where the Indians lived who had charge of the cattle. A tract of land like this, several miles in extent, alternating prairie and woodland, would be arich possession in a better peopled country. The few oxen seemed to thrive on the nutritious grasses, and to make all complete there was a little lake in the low grounds, surrounded by fan-leaved Carand palms, where the cattle could be watered all the year round. The farm was at present new, and the men said they had not yet been visited by jaguars. The poor fellows seemed to fare very badly. Captain Antonio treated all his Indians like slaves; paying them no wages and stinting them to scanty rations of salt fish and farinha. There was an air of poverty and misery over the whole establishment, which produced a very disagreeable impression: these are certainly not the people to develop the resources of a fine country like this.

On recrossing the river to Aveyros in the evening, a pretty little parrot fell from a great height headlong into the water near the boat; having dropped from a flock which seemed to be fighting in the air. One of the Indians secured it for me, and I was surprised to find the bird uninjured. There had probably been a quarrel about mates, resulting in our little stranger being temporarily stunned by a blow on the head from the beak of a jealous comrade. The species was the Conurus guianensis, called by the natives Maracana; the plumage green, with a patch of scarlet under the wings. I wished to keep the bird alive and tame it, but all our efforts to reconcile it to captivity were vain; it refused food, bit every one who went near it, and damaged its plumage in its exertions to free itself. My friends in Aveyros said that this kind of parrot never became domesticated. After trying nearly a week I was recommended to lend the intractable creature to an old Indian woman, living in the village, who was said to be a skilful bird-tamer. In two days she brought it back almost as tame as the familiar love-birds of our aviaries. 1 kept my little pet for upwards of two years; it learned to talk pretty well, and was considered quite a wonder as being a bird usually so difficult of domestication. I do not know

what arts the old woman used: Captain Antonio said she fed it with her saliva. The chief reason why almost all animals become so wonderfully tame in the houses of the natives is, I believe, their being treated with uniform gentleness, and allowed to run at large about the rooms. Our Maracana used to accompany us sometimes in our rambles, one of the lads carrying it on his head. One day, in the middle of a long forest road, it was missed, having clung probably to an overhanging bough and escaped into the thickets without the boy perceiving it. Three hours afterwards, on our return by the same path, a voice greeted us in a colloquial tone as we passed, ‘‘ Maracana!” We looked about for some time, but could not see anything until the word was repeated with emphasis, “ Maracand-4!” when we espied the little truant half concealed in the foliage of a tree. He came down and delivered himself up, evidently as much rejoiced at the meeting as we were.

After I had obtained the two men promised, stout young Indians 17 or 18 years of age, one named Ricardo and the other Alberto, I paid a second visit to the western side of the river in my own canoe; being determined, if possible, to obtain specimens of the White Cebus. We crossed over first to the mission village, Santa Cruz. It consists of 30 or 40 wretched-looking mud huts, closely built together in three straight ugly rows on a high gravelly bank. The place was deserted with the exception of two or three old men and women and a few children. The missionary, Fré Isidoro, an Italian monk, was away at another station called Wishittiba, two days’ journey farther up the river. Report said of him that he had no zeal for religion or devotion to his calling, but was occupied in trading, using the Indian proselytes to collect salsaparilla and so forth, with a view to making a purse wherewith to retire to his own country. The semi-civilised Indians, who speak the Tupi language, called him Pai tuctira, or Father Grasshopper: his peaked hood having a droll resemblance to the pointed head of the insect. I afterwards became acquainted with Fré Isidoro, and found him a man of superior intelligence and ability. He complained much of the ill treatment the Indians received at the hands of traders and the Brazilian civil authorities, and said that he and his predecessors had incessantly to contend for the rights secured to the aborigines by the laws of the empire. The plan of assembling families in formal, blank-looking settlements, like this of Santa Cruz, seemed to me very ill chosen. The Indians would be happier in their scattered wigwams, embowered in foliage on the banks of shady rivulets, where they prefer to settle when left to themselves. A narrow belt of wood runs behind the village; beyond this is an elevated barren campo, with a clayey and gravelly soil. To the south the coast country is of a similar description; a succession of scantily-wooded hills, bare grassy spaces, and richly-timbered hollows. We traversed forest and campo in various directions, during three days, without meeting with monkeys, or indeed with anything that repaid us the time and trouble. The soil of the district appeared too dry; at this season of the year I had noticed, in other parts of the country, that mammals and birds resorted to the more humid areas of forest; we therefore proceeded to explore carefully the low and partly swampy

tract, along the coast to the north of Santa Cruz. We spent two days in this way, landing at many places, and penetrating a good distance in the interior. Although unsuccessful with regard to the White Cebus, the time was not wholly lost, as I added several small birds of species new to my collection. On the second evening we surprised a large flock, composed of about fifty individuals, of a curious eagle with a very long and slender hooked beak, the Rostrhamus hamatus. They were perched on the bushes which surrounded a shallow lagoon, separated from the river by a belt of floating grass: my men said they fed on toads and lizards found at the margins of pools. They formeda beautiful sight as they flew up and wheeled about at a great height in the air. We obtained only one specimen.

Before returning to Aveyros we paid another visit to the Jacaré inlet leading to Captain Antonio’s cattle farm, for the sake of securing further specimens of the many rare and handsome insects found there; landing at the port of one of the settlers. ‘The owner of the house was not at home, and the wife,a buxom young woman, a dark mameluco, with clear though dark complexion and fine rosy cheeks, was preparing, in company with another stout-built Amazon, her rod and lines to go out fishing for the day’s dinner. It was now the season for Tucunarés, and Senhora Joaquina showed us the fly baits used to take this kind of fish, which she had made with her own hands of parrots’ feathers. The rods used are slender bamboos, and the lines made: from the fibres of pineapple leaves. It is not very common for the Indian and half-caste women to provide for themselves in the way these spirited dames were doing, although they are all expert paddlers, and very frequently cross wide rivers in their frail boats without the aid of men. It is possible that parties of Indian women, seen travelling alone in this manner, may have given rise to the fable of a nation of Amazons, invented by the first Spanish explorers of the country. Senhora Joaquina invited me and José toa Tucunaré dinner for the afternoon, and then, shouldering their paddles and tucking up their skirts, the two dusky fisherwomen marched down to their canoe. We sent the two Indians into the woods to cut palm leaves to mend the thatch of our cuberta, whilst I and José rambled through the woods which skirted the campo. On our return we found a most bountiful spread in the house of our hostess. A spotless white cloth was Jaid on the mat, with a plate for each guest, and a pile of fragrant newly-made farinha by the side of it. The boiled Tucunarés were soon taken from the kettles and set before us. I thought the men must be happy husbands who owned such wives as these. The Indian and mameluco women certainly do make excellent managers; they are more industrious than the men, and most of them manufacture farinha for sale on their own account, their credit always standing higher with the traders on the river than that of their male connections. I was quite surprised at the quantity of fish they had taken, there being sufficient for the whole party, including several children, two old men from a neighbouring hut, and my Indians. I made our good-natured entertainers a small present of needles and sewing-cotton, articles very much prized, and soon after we re-embarked, and again crossed the river to Aveyros.

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