182 'Martius and Spix^s 



experience of the changes which then occur. Dr. Martins 

 states, however, that from August to October the climate be- 

 comes more dry, and that the rain then recurs less regularly. 

 The proper rainy season begins in November, accompanied 

 by much and long-continued thunder. The rains continue 

 heavy until February and March, but sometimes the period 

 is prolonged. In the interior of the continent the travellers 

 likewise observed this distinction of seasons. In September, 

 when favoured by the wind, they sailed up the river, and 

 experienced the greatest dryness : on the contrary, deluges of 

 rain prevailed on their return in the month of March. 



The following is a translation of the leaf from the journal 

 of Dr. Martius, dated Para, August 16.1819; and describes 

 an equatorial day, as observed near the mouths of the Para 

 and the Amazons : — 



'* How happy am I here ! How thoroughly do I now 

 understand many things which before were incomprehensible 

 to me ! The glorious features of this wonderful region, where 

 all the powers of nature are harmoniously combined, beget 

 new sensations and ideas. I now feel that 1 better know what 

 it is to be a historian of nature. Overpowered by the con- 

 templation of an immense solitude, of a profound and in- 

 expressible stillness, it is, doubtless, impossible at once to 

 perceive all its divine characteristics ; but the feeling of its 

 vastness and grandeur cannot fail to arouse in the mind of the 

 beholder the thrilling emotions of a hitherto inexperienced 

 delight. 



" It is three o'clock in the morning, I quit my hammock; 

 for the excitement of my spirits banishes sleep. I open my 

 window, and gaze on the silent solemnity of night. The stars 

 shine with their accustomed lustre, and the moon's departing 

 beam is reflected by the clear surface of the river. How still 

 and mysterious is every thing around me ! I take my dark 

 lantern, and enter the cool veranda, to hold converse with my 

 trusty friends the trees and shrubs nearest to our dwelling. 

 Most of them are asleep, with their leaves closely pressed 

 together; others, however, which repose by day, stand erect, 

 and expand themselves in the stillness of night. But few 

 flowers are open ; only those of the sweet-scented VauWmia 

 greet me with a balmy fragrance, and thine, lofty mango, the 

 dark shade of whose leafy crown shields me from the dews of 

 night. Moths flit, ghostlike, round the seductive light of my 

 lantern. The meadows, ever breathing freshness, are now 

 saturated with dew, and I feel the damp of the night air on 

 my heated limbs. A Cicada, a fellow-lodger in the house, 

 attracts me by its domestic chirp back into my bedroom, and 



