A NATURALIST IN BRAZIL 



a lofty cone ; behind it looms a second, which is crowned by an old 

 monastery, with steep fortress-like walls. 



We penetrate further and further into the inlet, which runs inland 

 between the mountains, like a Norwegian fjord. Hills pass us by 

 whose rounded summits are overgrown by great rosettes of bromelias ; 

 and a wood pours out of a saddle between two heights. On a 

 naked rock black vultures arc sitting. At the end of the fjord lies 

 Victoria, the capital of the State. Amidst the yellow houses rises the 

 newly-built nave of a Gothic church ; in the background are steep 

 mountains ; and to one side of the town, on the hillside, a white 

 monastery lies amidst the trees (Plate 4). 



Beautiful are the forms of the mountains enclosing the Bay of 

 Espirito Santo, and the blue water glitters resplendent ; yet the lover 

 of Nature cannot gaze without regret on this wonderful scene, for, 

 enchanting though it may be, it is like a cathedral whose windows 

 have been shattered and its richly sculptured beauty destroyed. The 

 noble outUnes of the bay are the same as ever, but where is the 

 primeval tropical forest which was once reflected in its waters, and 

 the symphony of colour that delighted the eye when the rounded 

 summits of trees, ablaze with blue and yellow flowers, and the red 

 and orange clusters of the blossoms of the hanging creepers, were 

 reflected in the blue flood? Lifeless now are the waters that were 

 once alive with flocks of swimming birds, while stately cranes and 

 herons stood upon the beach, and the hawks and vultures circled 

 overhead. 



To-day the landscape is robbed of its living jewels, and the nobler 

 the relics of its former wealth, the more it laments the destroying 

 hand of man. 



Even in Rio de Janeiro I often had such thoughts, and I envied 

 De Solis, Magellan, and the Sousas, the discoverers of this incom- 

 parable bay, who saw it unpolluted as it left its Creator's hand. 

 For the beauty of Guanabara Bay is so supreme in its natural forms 

 and colours that no human hands could enhance it, or do otherwise 

 than deface it. I do not, of course, deny the beauty of the praias, 

 the wide avenues which enclose the bay, or the magnificence of the 

 Avenida Rio Branco, which crosses the centre of the city — built on 

 a projecting peninsula, from waterside to waterside, so that, looking 

 down the length of the splendid highway, one sees at either end the 

 lofty sides and funnels of the ocean steamers lying alongside the 

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