LIFE IN TEFFfe. 



225 



Here one may wander at will, for there are a great many 

 paths, worn by the Indians, through the trees ; and one 

 is constantly tempted on by the cool, pleasant shade, and 

 by the perfume of moss and fern and flower. The forest 

 here is full of life and sound. The buzz of insects, the 

 shrill cry of the cicadas, the chattering talk of the papagaios, 

 and occasionally busy voices of the monkeys, make the 

 woods eloquent. The monkeys are, however, very difficult 

 of approach, and though I hear them often, I have not yet 

 seen them on the trees ; but Mr. Hunnewell told me that 

 the other day, when shooting in this very wood, he came 

 upon a family of small white monkeys sitting on a bough 

 together, and talking with much animation. One of the 

 prettiest of the paths, with which my daily walks made 

 me familiar, leads over an igarap^ to a house, or rather 

 to a large thatched shed, in the forest, used for preparing 

 mandioca. It is supplied with four large clay ovens, 

 having immense shallow pans fitted on to the top, with 

 troughs for kneading, sieves for straining, and all the 

 apparatus for the various processes to which the mandioca 

 is subjected. One utensil is very characteristic ; the large, 

 empty turtle-shells, which may be seen in every kitchen, 

 used as basins, bowls, &q. I suppose this little establish- 

 ment is used by a number of persons, for in my morning 

 walks I always meet troops of Indians going to it, the 

 women with their deep working baskets, — something like 

 the Swiss " hotte," — in which they carry their tools, on 

 their backs, supported by a straw band fastened across 

 the forehead, and their babies astride on their hips, so as 

 to leave their hands perfectly free. They always give me a 

 cordial morning greeting and stop to look at the plants and 

 flowers with which I am usually laden. Some of the. women 

 10* o 



