1 86 NOTES OF A NATURALIST. 



Gualtro station ; but at this season very little remained 

 to interest the botanist. We reached the capital 

 about five p.m., and, as the days were now short, the 

 sun was setting as I went in an open carriage along 

 the broad Alameda, which runs nearly due east. The 

 better to enjoy the finest sunset which I had yet seen 

 in America, I was sitting facing westward, with my 

 back to the horses, when an unusual glow of bright 

 light on the adjoining houses caused me to turn my 

 head. Never shall I forget the extraordinary spectacle 

 that met my eyes. I am well used to brilliant sunsets, 

 for, so far as I know, they are nowhere in the world 

 so frequent as in the part of north-eastern Italy 

 approaching the foot of the Alps, with which I am 

 familiar. But the scene on this evening was beyond 

 all previous experience or imagination. The great 

 range of the Cordillera that rises above the town, 

 mostly covered with fresh snow, seemed ablaze in a 

 glory of red flame of indescribable intensity, and the 

 whole city was for some minutes transfigured in the 

 splendour of the illumination. 



The subject of sunset illumination has been much 

 discussed of late in connection with the supposed 

 effects of the great eruption of Krakatoa, and I con- 

 fess to a suspicion that these have been considerably 

 overrated. That the presence of finely comminuted 

 particles in the higher region of the atmosphere is one 

 of the chief causes that determine the colour of the 

 sky, may be freely conceded by those who doubt 

 whether a single volcanic eruption sufficed to alter the 

 conditions over the larger part of the earth's surface. 

 It is certain that some of the districts ordinarily noted 



