A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



December I. Last night I extracted a large berno from 

 m y l e g> where he had been a month. He was about three- 

 quarters of an inch long, and a quarter in diameter, the 

 larva of a blow-fly. 



December 3. Now summer heat has fairly set in, the 

 thermometer registered 139 yesterday, and driving the 

 lines ahead, cutting every step through dense capoeira 

 and jungle, is fatiguing. I have had letters from two or 

 three friends in England very anxious to know about the 

 geology of the district, urging me to make large collections 

 of butterflies, beetles, and, in fact, every insect I come 

 across ; also very lengthy and most interesting letters on 

 the botany, informing me of the special genera that I am 

 particularly to collect. Whatever else I may do, I fear 

 plants are quite out of the question, owing to the time and 

 care they require. I collected a few, but they were ruined 

 by the rains and damp, which penetrated everywhere. 



It is extremely tantalizing to be in the midst of so much 

 beauty, and to have absolutely no time except on Sundays, 

 when I generally rest and read ; the importance and 

 responsibility of the work throws everything else into the 

 background, and now it is getting too warm for very much 

 exertion in addition to the day's work. 



We are getting on very well, but I would not mind 

 sending you a little bit of sunshine in exchange for a slight 

 frost ; nevertheless, there is often a fresh breeze, and it 

 seems quite cool, with the thermometer at 75, two hours 

 after sunset. 



December 4. To-night is windy, after a very showery 

 day, which, following on the great heat we have had lately, 

 makes one chilly and cold, though the thermometer is 66. 

 I am sitting wrapped up in my thick poncho to keep 

 warm. 



