204 Naturalist at Large 



the puckish little face of a very imp. Of course if it should 

 be rainy, you would hear some interesting frog calls, but 

 I can promise you nothing in the way of an amphibian 

 chorus to be compared with the unbelievable roar and din, 

 a veritable biological boiler factory, which you can hear 

 around the University of Florida at Gainesville — in the 

 spring — and learn a lot about if you have Professor Archie 

 Carr to identify the calls for you. This, as I say, I cannot 

 promise, but you will hear some frogs and toads, and in- 

 numerable insects. I shall set the alarm clock for about five 

 forty-five. We are near enough to the Equator so that 

 there is only a few minutes' difference in the length of days 

 through the year and, as you no doubt know, day comes 

 and night falls quickly in the zone between the Tropic 

 of Capricorn and the Tropic of Cancer. 



We will assume now that the alarm has rung and step 

 out on our Httle screened porch, which presses directly 

 against the front of the great forest. Sit down with me in 

 your pajamas, so as not to waste time, as the sky begins 

 to pale, just as the first pair of parrots flies overhead, their 

 acrimonious vituperations, one to the other, bespeaking 

 their haste to reach some distant feeding tree. By great 

 good fortune a pair of macaws may fly over, but they are 

 rare and have almost disappeared from tliis part of Panama. 

 If they should pass, they will give a demonstration of avian 

 billingsgate completely unrivaled. If you want to hear 

 paroxysms of connubial discontent shrieked out over the 

 treetops, listen now. It is too early to watch for the toucans, 

 but they will volplane over our heads before long. 



Look out and see that great wliite balsa-tree blossom 

 tremble. Its pallid chalice seems to tip sidewise. As it grows 



