.•::::::::*C THE HOT LANDS OF THE PACIFIC m::::::::: 



twig, this time facing me, when one glance removed 

 all doubt as to its identity ; for its breast was stained 

 a rich pink, which burned out brightly amid the dark 

 shadows. It was the Xantus Becard, the second mem- 

 ber of the family Co ting Idee we had met. From time 

 to time it uttered a low, indefinable lisp, and soon flew 

 away. Three other individuals were seen after that, 

 all solitary, all flycatching, all in such deep woods as 

 our Wood Pewee would love. 



With all these interesting birds about our camp, how 

 I longed to spend weeks of exploration among these 

 jungles and marshes, where, later in the season, the 

 birds would all be in song, building their nests, or 

 feeding their young ! 



Early in the morning of the day that we planned to 

 spend at Manzanillo, we learned that the train passed 

 much earlier than we had expected. So, without break- 

 fast, we mounted two half-broken horses and rode at 

 a breakneck gallop, mile after mile, through the jungle 

 trail, dodging boughs, spurring the animals out of 

 morasses, and at last found ourselves seated in the nar- 

 row, dusty car. 



Soon the green woods and bushy meadows gave 

 place to the rainless death — a desolate country of 

 parched grass, leafless trees, vdth dust, dust, every- 

 where. If anything could exceed the dust, it was the 

 heat. Before we reached INIanzanillo we passed along 

 the great lagoon which has made Manzanillo one of the 



-04 331 #* 



