THE FOREST. 27 



on account of the dense shade. Then, the heat 

 and moisture, together with the oppressive smell 

 of decaying vegetation, remind him that fever 

 lurks in these recesses, and drive him back to 

 his bateau. However, indifferent as he may be 

 to the primitive forest, he cannot but enjoy a trip 

 on one of the smaller rivers or creeks. Here each 

 bend brings a new picture before his eyes, every 

 one worth keeping in mind until his return, when, 

 perhaps surrounded with home comforts, he will 

 forget all the inconveniences which prevented his 

 enjoying them at the time. 



To the huntsman, with whom we must class the 

 native Indian, the forest is never dull. However 

 deserted it may appear, he knows where to look 

 for the acourie and labba, or on what trees 

 monkeys and parrots are likely to be found. The 

 Indian treads softly so that not a twig or leaf 

 rustles under foot, yet he trips along much faster 

 than the white man can follow. To him the path- 

 less woods are familiar ; he knows every hill and 

 valley ; the little streams which trickle downward 

 have their destinations, and he can tell you whence 

 they come and where they go. Then, hundreds of 

 the great trees are quite as well known to him as 

 are public buildings to the inhabitants of the city. 

 When in a strange locality he bends down a young 



