A YARD OF JUNGLE 245 



and method of feeding, striving to fix its indi- 

 viduality, I would secure the bird, and find in 

 all probability that it was a calhste, or tanager 

 of brilliant plumage. Tomorrow, if I were 

 lucky, I might be able to tell off the numbers 

 of this species, to watch them and to know 

 that I was watching them. But recognition 

 would not be by way of the cerulean or topaz 

 or amethystine hues of plumage, but by the 

 slight idiosyncrasies of flirting tail or wing or 

 of general carriage. 



Day by day, as I came to know better the 

 jungle about me, I began to perceive a phase 

 which did not change. Even when the sun 

 shone most brightly, when the coolness of early 

 morning had not yet passed, the mood of the 

 Amazon jungle remained. It was consistent, 

 this low swampy jungle, in its uniform, somber 

 mystery. In spite of wholesale exaggeration 

 it was the dangers which came to mind. Of all 

 places in the world this was probably fullest of 

 life, both in numbers and diversity. Yet it was 

 death — or the danger of death — which seemed 

 in waiting, always just concealed from view. 



Beneath my tree I squatted silently. Just 

 overhead the foliage might have been almost 



