CHAPTER VI 



RIO DE JANEIRO 



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Hail ! City of the tropic seas, 



Queen of the headlands, veiled in light, 

 Pillowed among thy purpling peaks, 



Sun-decked, and robed in white! 

 Thy feet are laved by Ocean old. 



Thy head is crowned with bloom, 

 And Flora from her cups of gold 



Pours o'er thee rich perfume. 



ON the morning of September the 7th we came in 

 sight of the mountains which guard the coast 

 just north of Rio de Janeiro. They are bold in outline 

 and their precipitous walls of rock in places rise up 

 grandly from the ocean. At the openings of valleys 

 were narrow strips of level land covered with forests. 

 Occasionally a clearing and human habitations could 

 be seen, and here and there were white beaches against 

 which the surf lazily rolled. Fishermen in small 

 boats were plying their business on the smooth waters. 

 A monastery on a little rocky islet not far from the 

 shore attracted attention. The forests of palms 

 crowding to the edge of the water reminded us that 

 we were still in the heart of the tropics. At last we 

 turned in nearer to the coast. A crag, so steep that it 

 looked as if a goat would have difficulty in obtaining 

 a foothold upon its lower slopes, rose above us. Beyond 



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