32 NOTES OF A NATURALIST. 



water of the North Atlantic as seen in approaching 

 the British Islands. 



At daybreak on April 8 we found ourselves 

 approaching the port of Buenaventura. Long before 

 it was possible to land I was ready, thrilling with 

 interest and curiosity respecting a region so entirely 

 new — an interest enhanced, perhaps, by the extent of 

 ignorance of which I was inwardly conscious. Know- 

 ing this place to be the only port of an extensive 

 tract, including much of the coast region of New 

 Granada, lying only a few degrees from the equator, 

 and rich in all sorts of tropical produce, I had formed 

 a very undue idea of its importance. Although the 

 rise and fall of the tide are very moderate on this 

 coast, the ricketty wooden wharf could not be reached 

 at low water. There was nothing for it but to land 

 on the mud, and scramble up the slippery slope to 

 the top of the bank of half-consolidated marl, from 

 twenty to forty feet above the shore, on which the 

 little town is built. It consists of some two hundred 

 houses and stores, nearly all mere plank sheds, but, 

 as usual throughout South America, the inhabitants 

 rejoice in dreams of future wealth and importance to 

 be secured by a railway communicating with the 

 interior. There was no time to be lost ; notice had 

 been given that the ship's stay was to be very brief, 

 and even before landing it was apparent that the 

 tropical forest was close at hand. In truth, the last 

 houses are within a stone's throw of the skirts of the 

 forest. Just at this point I was attracted by a leafless 

 bush, evidently one of the spinous species of Solanum, 

 with large, yellow, obversely pear-shaped fruits. As 



