One day, going ashore to cut some sticks for an awning on the canoa, I hacked with my machete at a tall, slim tree very common along the banks, and which had often bothered me by its curled, dried leaves, clinging to the tree and looking very much like the doves (_qualm_) which were so often on the tree that it is named for them. This tree, which is botanically known as a cecropia, one of the nettle family, had a hollow trunk divided transversely by thin partitions, and from this cavity came a swarm of ants. I had here a chance to verify the interesting description given by Mr. Belt[7] of the habits of these remarkable creatures. As he says, they get into the tree by boring a small hole, and then eat their way through the many floors of this vegetable tower; they do not, however, eat the tree directly for sustenance, but import with great care numbers of coccidæ, or scale-insects, to feed on the tree-juices and elaborate a honey-like matter, which the ants eagerly suck from a pore on the back of these little cows. I tried in vain to find the queen ant; but while every cecropia that I touched was tenanted by ants, never a single female came to light. There are several small outer doors, for the disturbed stem is dotted with the pugnacious little ants in a very short time. What first taught the ants to farm these dull, inert coccidæ? Other vegetables are ant-inhabited, but none that I know of afford such spacious accommodations. Pleasant as this life on the river and in the forest was, the time came when we must return; and it was startling how many things we saw on our way down which we had passed unnoticed coming up,—tall reeds with feathery blossoms more graceful than the pampas-grass; palms with bluish green foliage; flowers of the arum family more beautiful than a calla; blue herons; butterflies of the most attractive colors; fish like glass, that is as transparent, and about a foot long. Frank shot a beautiful grossbeak with scarlet breast and metallic green back, and brought me a fine purple passion-flower; another of the party shot an alligator, who turned over, exposing his yellow belly as he died. Altogether, the voyage down was more agreeable than the hard run up. Trees that were bare a few days before were now covered with white feathery flowers, and others presented masses of greenish flowers on their flat tops. We sailed and floated down the Rio Dulce by moonlight, and at early dawn anchored at Livingston. [Illustration: San Gil, from Author’s House in Livingston.]