A YARD OF JUNGLE 



In the very suburbs of Para, at the mouth 

 of the great Amazon and within a hundred miles 

 of the equator, I found a Mecca of bird-life. 

 It was a gastronomic Mecca to be sure, a tall, 

 slender, wild cinnamon tree, canella do matto 

 the natives called it. For a full week I invited 

 torture by attempting to study the bird-life of 

 this single tree. This thing had not been done 

 before; it might not be worth the doing. But 

 testing such possibilities are as important to a 

 naturalist's work as following along the more 

 conventional and consequently more certain 

 lines of investigation. I had no time for ex- 

 ploration of the surrounding country; so I had 

 determined to risk all my precious hours upon 

 intensive observation in one spot. 



The century before, a plantling had pushed 

 up through the jungle mold and had won suc- 

 cess in the terrible competition of the tropics 

 the helpless, motionless, silent strife of the vege- 

 table folk. Year by year the lichen-sculptured 

 trunk had pushed its way upward toward light 

 and air, miraculously saved from the deadly em- 

 braces of the lianas which crawled forever 

 through the jungle. Today it had gained an 

 accepted place. Although no forest giant, with 



