502 EXCURSIONS BEYOND EGA 



other side the descent into the lowland begins close to 

 the streets ; the hill sloping abruptly towards a boggy- 

 meadow surrounded by woods, through which a narrow 

 winding path continues the slope down to a cool shady 

 glen, with a brook of icy cold water flowing at the bottom. 

 At mid-day the vertical sun penetrates into the gloomy 

 depths of this romantic spot, lighting up the leafy banks 

 of the rivulet and its clean sandy margins, where numbers 

 of scarlet, green, and black tanagers and brightly-coloured 

 butterflies sport about in the stray beams. Sparkling 

 brooks, large and small, traverse the glorious forest in 

 almost every direction, and one is constantly meeting, 

 whilst rambling through the thickets, with trickling rills 

 and bubbling springs, so well-provided is the country 

 with moisture. Some of the rivulets flow over a sandy 

 and pebbly bed, and the banks of all are clothed with 

 the most magnificent vegetation conceivable. I had the 

 almost daily habit, in my solitary walks, of resting on the 

 clean banks of these swift-flowing streams, and bathing 

 for an hour at a time in their bracing waters ; hours 

 which now remain amongst my most pleasant memories. 

 The broad forest roads continue, as I was told, a distance 

 of several days' journey into the interior, which is peopled 

 by Tucunas and other Indians, living in scattered houses 

 and villages nearly in their primitive state, the nearest 

 village lying about six miles from St. Paulo. The banks 

 of all the streams are dotted with palm- thatched dwellings 

 of Tucunas, all half-buried in the leafy wilderness, the 

 scattered families having chosen the coolest and shadiest 

 nooks for their abodes. 



I frequently heard in the neighbourhood of these huts, 

 the * realejo ' or organ bird (Cyphorhinus cantans), the 

 most remarkable songster, by far, of the Amazonian 

 forests. When its singular notes strike the ear for the 

 first time, the impression cannot be resisted that they 

 are produced by a human voice. Some musical boy must 

 be gathering fruit in the thickets, and is singing a few 

 notes to cheer himself. The tones become more fluty 

 and plaintive ; they are now those of a flageolet, and 

 notwithstanding the utter impossibility of the thing, one 

 is for the moment convinced that somebody is playing 

 that instrument. No bird is to be seen, however closely 

 the surrounding trees and bushes may be scanned, and 

 yet the voice seems to come from the thicket close to one's 



