heir heads and chattering, young and
old, without regard to each other or to harmony. Each seems bent on
giving his own opinion in the loudest key, and pays no regard whatever
to the opinions of others. There is something almost human in this!

It is a curious fact that, while the plumage of the parrots' breasts is
always gaudy and brilliant in the extreme, that of their backs is
usually the colour of the general tone of the region they inhabit. In
woods, where the bark of trees is chiefly bright yellow and green, their
backs are of these colours. In the plains they are a mixture of green
and brown, so that when skimming over a country they are not easily
distinguished, but if they chance to come unexpectedly on travellers,
they sheer off with a shriek, and expose their gaudy breasts to view.

The large flock that had so suddenly come on our friends while taking
their siesta had turned off thus with a horrible scream, and revealed
their gay breasts, on which the sun chanced to shine at the moment with
great power, thus producing, as we have said, a splendid flash of
colour.

"Massa," inquired Quashy, as they sat in the canoe enjoying the cold
meal and floating slowly with the stream, "which you likes best,--ros'
purrit or ros' monkey?"

"Really, I'm not quite sure," replied Lawrence; "it depends very much on
appetite. If I'm very hungry, I prefer the one that comes first to
hand. Which do _you_ like best?"

"Well, I's not kite sure needer. I t'ink sometimes dat monkey is best,
but I can't easy git ober de face."

"How so, Quashy?"

"'Cause it am so like eatin' a bit o' my great-gran'moder."

"Indeed!"

"Yes. You's no notion how like dey all is to dat ole lady. You see,
she was uncommon old. She come ob a long-lib race. Das whar' it is.
My moder was eighty-two, an' my gran'moder was ninety-siven, an' my
great-gran'moder was a hun'r'd an' sixteen, an' dey was all alive
togidder, an' at fuss you couldn' tell which was de oldest. Dey run
neck an' neck for a long time, but arter de great-gran' one pass de
hunr' milestone--oh! she hoed ahead like a rattlesnake. De wrinkles an'
de crows' foots, an' de--de colour--jes' like bu'nt leather! She lef'
de oders far behind, an' looked like nuffin so much as dat poor little
blear-eyed monkey you shot de oder day, what Senhorina Manuela say was
_so_ nice to eat. What! you un'erstan' Ingliss?" added the negro,
looking at the Indian girl, who had given vent to a