But there is little charm about it, nothing of the tranquillity our
idyllic Catskills or even the sterner Adirondacks, create. There is no
invitation to repose, no stimulus to quiet enjoyment, for the myriad
life of the Amazon's jungle forest never rests. There is always some
sound or some movement which is bound to stir in one the instinct
of self-preservation. You have to be constantly alive to the danger
of disagreeable annoyance from the pests that abound, or of actual
bodily harm from animals of the reptilian order.

Were I in possession of adequate descriptive power I could picture
the impression that this jungle creates upon the mind of one from the
North, but now, as I once more sit in a large city with sky-scrapers
towering about me, and hear the rattling noise of the elevated railway
train as it rushes past, my pen fails me and I have to remove myself on
the wings of thought to those remote forests, fully realising, "_Beatus
ille, qui procul negotiis, ut_" etc., etc. Then I can feel again
the silence and the gloom that pervade those immense and wonderful
woods. The few sounds of birds and animals are, generally, of a pensive
and mysterious character, and they intensify the feeling of solitude
rather than impart to it a sense of life and cheerfulness. Sometimes
in the midst of the noon-day stillness, a sudden yell or scream will
startle one, coming from some minor fruit-eating animal, set upon by a
carnivorous beast or serpent. Morning and evening, the forest resounds
with the fearful roar of the howling monkeys, and it is hard, even
for the stoutest heart, to maintain its buoyancy of spirit. The sense
of inhospitable wilderness, which the jungle inspires, is increased
tenfold by this monstrous uproar. Often in the still hours of night,
a sudden crash will be heard, as some great branch or a dead tree falls
to the ground. There are, besides, many sounds which are impossible
to account for and which the natives are as much at a loss to explain