After an hour of patient waiting the sound of clashing boughs is heard in the tree-tops. A few minutes later may be seen a big school of monkeys, led by a solemn-looking old pilot, who doubtless knows every palm that bears nuts within twenty miles around. They are now coming to inspect my cage, and see what new thing this is, set up in monkeydom. As they come nearer, they become more cautious and tardy. They find a strong bough in the top of a big tree, and the grave old pilot perches himself far out on it, to peep at my cage. Just behind him sits the next in rank, resting his hands on the shoulders of the leader, while a dozen more are arranged in similar attitudes behind each other, along the limb. Each one pushes the one just in front of him, to make him move up a little closer, but no one of them, except the pilot, seems to want the front seat. They look in silence, turning their little heads from side to side, as if to be certain it is not an illusion. They nudge one another again, and move up an inch or two closer, squinting their bright eyes, as if in doubt about the strange sight before them. They have made such calls before, but have not quite determined what kind of an animal this is in the cage. At each successive visit they come a little nearer, until now they are not a hundred feet away. Now they take alarm at something, and hurry away in another direction. Next comes an armadillo, prowling about for insects among the leaves. He catches a glimpse of the cage, he stands motionless for a moment, to see what it is, and then, like a flash, he is gone. During this time birds of divers kinds have been flying in all directions. Some of them perch on the limbs near by, some pick the nuts of the palm-tree, while others scream and screech, like so many tin-whistles, or brass horns. Many of them are parrots. Some have brilliant and beautiful plumage. It is now ten o'clock. Not a breath of air stirs a leaf of the whole forest. The heat is sweltering and oppressive. The voices of the birds grow less and less frequent. Even the insects do not appear to be so busy as they were in the earlier hours of the day. Moses has abandoned his rambles in the bush, and sits on a fallen tree, with his arms folded, as if he had finished work for the day. Along towards this hour everything in the forest appears to become quiet and inactive, and continues so until about two o'clock in the afternoon. I was impressed on more than one occasion with this universal rest during the hottest part of the day, and the same thing seems to prevail among the aquatic animals.