SOUTH AMERICA. 33 



the wren chants its evening song. The capri- FIRST 



JOURNEY. 



mulgus wheels in busy flight around the canoe, 



while " Whip-poor-Will" sits on the broken, 

 stump near the water's edge, complaining as the 

 shades of night set in. 



A little before you pass the last of these rapids, Rocks, 

 two immense rocks appear, nearly on the summit 

 of one of the many hills which form this far- 

 extending range, where it begins to fall off gra- 

 dually to the south. 



They look like two ancient stately towers of 

 some Gothic potentate, rearing their heads above 

 the surrounding trees. What with their situation, 

 and their shape together, they strike the beholder 

 with an idea of antiquated grandeur, which he 

 will never forget. He may travel far and near 

 and see nothing like them. On looking at them 

 through a glass, the summit of the southern one 

 appeared crowned with bushes. The one to the 

 north was quite bare. The Indians have it from 

 their ancestors, that they are the abode of an 

 evil genius, and they pass in the river below, 

 with a reverential awe. 



In about seven hours from these stupendous River 

 sons of the hill, you leave the Essequibo, and 

 enter the river Apoura-poura, which falls into it 

 from the south. The Apoura-poura is nearly 

 one-third the size of the Demerara at Sta- 

 broek. For two days you see nothing but level 

 ground, richly clothed in timber. You leave the 



D 



