212 Idle Days in Patagonia. 



of tinamous sprang rocket-like into the air, and fled 

 awaj with long wailing notes and loud whur of 

 wings ; or on some distant hill-side a bright patch 

 of yellow, of a deer that was watching me, appeared 

 and remained motionless for two or three minutes. 

 But the animals were few, and sometimes I would 

 pass an entire day without seeing one mammal, and 

 perhaps not more than a dozen birds of any size. 

 The weather at that time was cheerless, generally 

 with a grey film of cloud spread over the sky, and 

 a bleak wind, often cold enough to make my bridle 

 hand feel quite numb. Moreover, it was not pos- 

 sible to enjoy a canter ; the bushes grew so close 

 together that it was as much as one could do to 

 pass through at a walk without brushing against 

 them ; and at this slow pace, which would have 

 seemed intolerable in other circumstances, I would 

 ride about for hours at a stretch. In the scene 

 itself there was nothing to delight the eye. Every- 

 where through the light, grey mould, grey as ashes 

 and formed by the ashes of myriads of generations 

 of dead trees, where the wind had blown on it, or 

 the rain had washed it away, the underlying yellow 

 sand appeared, and the old ocean-polished pebbles, 

 dull red, and grey, and green, and yellow. On 

 arriving at a hill, I would slowly ride to its summit, 

 and stand there to survey the prospect. On every 

 side it stretched away in great undulations; but 

 the undulations were wild and irregular ; the hills 

 were rounded and cone-shaped, they were solitary 

 and in groups and ranges; some sloped gently, 



