CHAPTER II. 



ARRIVAL AT RIO, AND JOURNEY TO QUELUZ. 



Rio de Janeiro. 



June 28, 1883. At length I can write to you from dry 

 land, but must begin from the close of my last letter. 

 Yesterday, June 27, I got up at 4 a.m., just as we were off 

 Cabo Frio, which we apparently passed quite close ; it was 

 bright moonlight, and the coast was beautifully moun- 

 tainous. As we neared the Bay of Rio de Janeiro, before 

 the sun rose, the view became yet more beautiful, range 

 over range appearing through the mist and above the 

 clouds in the increasing light. 



The Bay of Rio de Janeiro is generally admitted to be 

 the finest in the world, though some (including the French 

 captain) consider the Bay of San Francisco, in the States, 

 finer. I can hardly think it possible. The entrance to this 

 bay is perfect. Passing two little islands, on the left we see 

 a series of jagged, rugged, irregular, and isolated mountains, 

 beginning with the Sugar-loaf, and backed by the 

 Corcovado group ; while on the right are range beyond 

 range of much more rounded hills, covered to the summit 

 with verdure and tropical forest. Looking through the 

 entrance, the eye is arrested by the faint fantastic outline 

 of the Organ Mountains, some eight thousand feet high, 



