There, as in every settlement in Central America, the eaves of the
dwellings were lined with Turkey buzzards. These huge birds are regarded
with something akin to veneration. They are never molested; indeed, like
the pariah dogs of the Orient, they have the right of way; and they are
evidently conscious of the fact, for they are tamer than barnyard fowls.
They are the scavengers of the tropics. They sit upon the housetop and
among the branches of the trees, awaiting the hour when the refuse of
the domestic meal is thrown into the street. There is no drainage in
those villages; strange to say, even in the larger cities there is none.
Offal of every description is cast forth into the highways and byways;
and at that moment, with one accord, down sweep the grim sentinels to
devour it. They feast upon carrion and every form of filth. They are
polution personified, and yet they are the salvation of the indolent
people, who would, but for the timely service of these ravenous birds,
soon be wallowing in fetid refuse and putrefaction under the fierce rays
of their merciless sun.

In the twilight we wandered by a crescent shore that was thickly strewn
with shells. They were not the tribute of northern waters: they were as
delicately fashioned and as variously tinted as flowers. All that they
lacked was fragrance; and this we realized as we stored them carefully
away, resolving that they should become the nucleus of a museum of
natural history as soon as we got settled in our California home.

We had crossed the Isthmus in safety. Yonder, in the offing, the ship
that was to carry us northward to San Francisco lay at anchor. For three
days we had suffered the joys of travel and adventure. On the San Juan
river we had again and again touched points along the varying routes
proposed, by the Maritime Canal Company of Nicaragua and the Walker
Commission, as being practical for the construction of a great ship