40 CRUSOE'S ISLAND. 



lazily sunning himself on the stick, was the jacamar 

 {Galbula viridis), a name probably derived from the 

 Brazilian rendering of his cry of "jacamarV^ 



He is about ten inches in length, and his wings 

 stretch eleven, when they are spread in his short 

 flights after insects in the air. He is a sweet-tem- 

 pered, unsuspicious dweller by the sides of shady 

 paths and river banks, doing harm to nobody ; but be- 

 cause he has a pretty coat of feathers, and vain woman 

 desires those feathers in her bonnets, poor jacamar's 

 life has been placed in jeopardy, and I doubt if the 

 barbarous bird hunters have left a dozen of his tribe 

 in the island. 



A little waterfall trickled down a broad stair of 

 rock and formed a small basin of quiet water at its 

 foot, above which hung the lacelike leaves of the tree 

 ferns. 



Halting here a moment, I heard the faint hoot of 

 the King of the Woods, and imitating his cry I soon 

 brought him to the stream, where he perched on a 

 tree near an immense palm. He looked about stupid- 

 ly, snapped rather viciously at a second King who 

 had also responded to my call, and replied every time 

 I asked the question, " Who ? " 



"Who?" I said, and "Who?" solemnly an- 

 swered King Prion. 



After bandying words awhile, and thoroughly 

 mystifying the wondering birds, I went on up the 

 stream, where the surroundings were more open. A 

 kingfisher dashed past me with a whiz and a whirr, 

 cleaving the air like a flashing topaz, and sending the 



