106 
‘five o'clock, after a long and fatiguing 
day’s march. In the wood, the mud was 
in places up to the bellies of the horses 
—passes which occasioned us difficulty 
and some danger, particularly with 
the cargoes. Caramacat is a= simall 
Indian village, reduced to the last ex- 
tremity of poverty, and containing pro- 
Recent Journcy in Columbia. 
[March 1, 
bably a population of 14 to 1500 per- 
sons. : 
From Caramacat to San Carlos was 
thirteen leagues, and occupied us frcm 
between seven and eight o’clock in the 
morning to seven o’elock at night, 
liaving passed through the village of San 
José, situated one league from the city. 
Carlos 
was one of the vichest towns in Vene- 
zuela, but it is now reduced to the last 
Before the revolution San 
extreme of poverty. The rich savan- 
nahs, by which it is surrounded, were 
once filled with hordes of cattle, mules 
and horses, which enriched the inha- 
Ditants with extraordinary rapidity, 
and toa degree scarcely credible. The 
town is extensive, contains five or six 
churches, of which one of the largest 
was built and ornamented at the ex- 
e 
I 
pense of one individual only. So re- 
duced is the present sifuation of this 
city, that many of its best houses are 
oceupied by persons who ean with | 
difficulty procure caraulas (beans) to 
live npon. We were provided with an 
excellent lodging, which still retains 
many marks of former splendour. The 
temperature is extremely hot, and the 
population probably from 5 to 6000 
persons. 
A DWELLING-H@GUSE AT SAN CARLOS. s4\> 
In approaching San Carlos, we had 
gradually taken our leave of the 
mountains, and had now to pursue our 
journey through savannahs * boundless 
as the sea,” where a burning sun, and 
almost breathless atmosphere frequent- 
ly during the day obliged us to beg a 
temporary shelter in the first cottage 
we had the good fortune to fall in with. 
In travelling through different parts of 
this country, and particuiarly in the 
plains, Ihave frequently had occasion 
to remark the uncommon silence 
which universally prevails, and the 
entire absence of singing birds, so 
common in England. 
For here at dawn the lark’s enlivening 
song, 
The warbling thrush, 
plaintive tale, 
Unheard—unknowi these breathless plains 
amone. 
How still the burning day! at night the 
vile 
Alike unsolaced by the nightingale, 
Silent is Nature’s voice, save where a 
lonely ox © 
Sends forth its mournful wail. 
After remaining a day longer than 
we 
the blackbird’s 
