he saw two twinkling lights, which told him that the village was
ahead.

But we were describing a tropical day. Night is over. The sun rising
again in the cloudless sky, the cycle is completed--spring, summer, and
autumn, as it were, in one tropical day. The days are more or less like
this throughout the year. A little difference exists, between the dry
and wet seasons. The periodical phenomena of plants and animals do not
take place at about the same time in all the species, or in the
individuals of any given species, as they do in temperate countries.
The dry season here is not excessive, nor is there any estivation, as in
some tropical countries. In these forests the aspect is the same or
nearly so every day in the year--budding, flowering, fruiting, and
leaf-shedding, are always going on in one species or other. The
activity of birds and insects proceeds without interruption, each
species having its own breeding-times. The colonies of wasps, for
instance, do not die off annually, leaving only the queens, as in cold
climates, but the succession of generations and colonies goes on
incessantly. It is never either spring, summer, or autumn, but each day
is a combination of the three. With the day and night always of equal
length, the atmospheric disturbances of each day neutralise themselves
before each succeeding morning. With the sun in its course proceeding
midway across the sky, and the daily temperature the same within two or
three degrees throughout the year, how grand in its perfect equilibrium
and simplicity is the march of nature under the equator!

"Oppressive, almost fearful, is the silence and gloom of the Brazilian
forest," says Bates. "The few sounds of birds are of that pensive or
mysterious character which intensifies the feeling of solitude, rather
than imparts a sense of life and cheerfulness. Sometimes, in the midst
of the stillness, a sudden yell or scream will startle one. This comes
from some defenceless fruit-eating animal, which is pounced upon by a
tiger-cat or stealthy boa-constrictor. Morning and evening howling
monkeys make a most fearful and harrowing noise, under which it is
difficult to keep up one's buoyancy of spirit. The feeling of
inhospitable wildness which the forest is calculated to inspire, is
increased tenfold under this fearful uproar. Often, even in the still
hours of mid-day, there is a sudden crash, resounding afar through the
wilderness, as some great bough