254 Naturalist at Large 



of Camoens I am inclined to think that I have been unjust 

 to the language of Brazil. 



My daughter Mary and her husband, Alfred Kidder II, 

 have traveled far and wide digging for prehistoric pottery, 

 first in Venezuela where I was able to pass them on to old 

 friends, then in Honduras where the farmers and officials 

 of the United Fruit Company showed them many courte- 

 sies while they worked in the prehistoric cemeteries near 

 Lake Yohoa and the Ulua River. Latterly they have con- 

 centrated on Peru where Dr. Julio C. Telio, once here at 

 Harvard and an old friend of mine, and his colleagues 

 have made every day of their two long visits golden days 

 indeed, as witness my daughter's published diary. No 

 Lmiits but the Sky, which has been praised by others than 

 her affectionate father. 



I have been asked time and time again what railroad 

 ride I have enjoyed above all others. This question is a 

 o^ood deal lil^e "Which is the most beautiful harbor in 

 the world?" — something which has been widely discussed 

 since the beginning of time. But for my part I don't think 

 there is any scenery so lovely as that which meets the eye 

 when the train turns sharply inland after leaving Siquirres 

 in Costa Rica and begins to climb up to the central high- 

 lands on a road that clings precariously to a little shelf 

 beside the roaring Reventazon River. The forest along the 

 lower Motagua in Guatemala is perhaps equally fine and 

 varied, but in Costa Rica the river pitches down much more 

 steeply. As you mount upward there are frequently long- 

 distance scenes down the valley toward the sea which are 

 ineffably lovely. 



