HUNTING IN THE TROPICS. 139 



be made into bread for the very nicest tables in 

 our land. I never knew tlie natives to grind it or 

 pound it. They are accustomed to roast it on the ear 

 after the kernels have become quite hard and yellow. 

 Our house in this tropical garden was merely a 

 bamboo hut, with a broad veranda, which aiforded us 

 an ample shelter from the pouring rains and scorch- 

 ing sunshine. I had been careful to take along my 

 fowling-piece, and at once I commenced a rambling 

 hunt through the adjoining forest. Large flocks of 

 small birds, much like our blackbii'd, were hovering 

 about, but they so invariably chose to alight only on 

 the tops of the tallest trees, that I was a long time 

 securing half a dozen specimens, for at every shot 

 they would select another distant tree-top, and give 

 me a long walk over tangled roots and fallen trees 

 in the dense, almost gloomy, jungle. As evening 

 came on, small green parrots uttered their shrill, 

 deafening screams, as they darted to and fro through 

 the thick foliage. A few of these also entered my 

 game-bag. 



In these tropical lands, when the sun sets, it is 

 high time for the hunter to forsake his fascinating 

 sport and hurry homo. There is no long, fading 

 twilight, but darkness presses closely on the foot- 

 steps of retreating day, and at once it is night. On 

 my return, my friend remarked in the coolest manner 

 that I had secured us both a good supper ; and be- 

 fore I had recovered from my shock at sucli a sug- 

 gestion, the cook had torn out a large handful of 

 1 icli feathers from the skins, and all were spoiled for 

 my collection ; however, I consoled myself with the 



