20 THE VOYAGE. 
After crossing the river, the country becomes 
open, and large patches of rich land are seen 
under a rude kind of cultivation, until the 
native town of Gorgona is reached, where, in 
old days, boats were exchanged for horses and 
mules, on the overland route. 
Leaving the course of the river, the line 
passes through deep clay banks and rocky cut- 
tings, suddenly emerging on the green meadow- 
lands surrounding Matuchin. I never gazed on 
a more exquisite panorama. Dotting the fore- 
ground was a pretty native village; to the left 
the Chagres, and its tributary the Rio Obispo; 
on the right a group of conical hills, so clothed 
with vegetation that it was impossible to imagine 
what the land would look like if the trees were 
cut away. During our stay at this station we 
were regularly beset; numerous vendors of native 
merchandise crowded into and round about the 
open van; grey-haired old men, and women, 
pushed trays under our very noses, covered with 
filthy pastry, gingerbread, sweetstuff, and other 
like abominations; whilst little black urchins sat 
_ like imps on the rails of the truck, each with 
some live captive for sale—monkey, squirrel, 
parrot, or other bright-plumaged bird. 
Following the valley of the Obispo, which 
