"During the heavy tropical rain-storms that sometimes darken the air," says the Prince von Wied, "it is not uncommon to see parrots sitting motionless upon the dead branches at the very top of a tree, uttering cheerful screams, as the water streams off from their plumage; there may be dense foliage, and thick boughs immediately beneath, under which they might easily find shelter, but they prefer the warm shower, and seem to enjoy the wetting. No sooner, however, has the rain ceased, than they appear equally desirous to dry themselves, and to rid their plumage of the moisture." In fine weather it is quite otherwise; they then decidedly prefer the shelter of the thickest trees, either as a protection from the burning heat of the sun, or for the purpose of concealment, and hasten to them at once on the slightest alarm. They know what an excellent protection to them, clothed as they are in leafy green, the verdant bower offers; and, truly, when thus ensconced, they are tolerably secure from observation; a man may know that there are fifty of them in a tree, and not see one. In playing their game of hide and seek, both the colour of their feathers, and the cunning so peculiar to all parrots, contribute to their safety;--they do not want to be seen. One of their company has just at the right time observed the approach of an enemy; he gives a sign, they are all at once silent, and withdraw themselves towards the centre of the tree; noiselessly, they climb to that side of the summit opposite to the spot where the enemy has appeared, they then fly off, and it is only when they are a hundred yards away that they seem to recover their voice, and scream to their hearts' content, apparently rather out of bravado, after having thus outwitted their pursuers, than for the sake of calling upon their companions. This clever game they play more especially when they have settled on some tree for the purpose of enjoying the fruit, as it is then that their thievish design is carried out with the greatest cunning. "Whilst on the wing," says Pöppig, "the large golden green Araras of the Andes will arrest their flight to come down upon the scarlet Coral trees (_Erythrinæ_) and the yellow _Tachiæ_, the heads of which they eagerly devour. Their cry is positively fearful; nevertheless, they are quite clever enough to understand that it would be dangerous to give utterance to it when they are just about to plunder some ripening field of Indian corn. At such a time, every one of them will repress its inclination to make a noise, giving utterance to no sound except a sort of murmur, with which it accompanies its proceedings, as it prosecutes its work of destruction with surprising quickness. The sportsman, or even the exasperated Indian, finds it by no means an easy task to surprise the thieves, seeing that two of the oldest birds are always set as watchmen upon the highest trees in the neighbourhood. The first note of alarm is