128 Idle Days in Patagonia. 
pleasure was in society, in newspapers, the play, and 
in the café where one meets one’s friends of an even- 
ing and has a pleasant game of dominoes. As these 
things which he valued were merely dust and ashes 
to me, I did not sympathize deeply with his discon- 
tent, nor consider that it mattered much which por- 
tion of the globe he made choice of for a residence. 
But the facts of his case interested me; and if I 
should have a reader who has other ideals, who 
has felt the mystery and glory of life overcoming 
his soul with wonder and desire, and who bears 
in his system the canker of consumption which 
threatens to darken the vision prematurely—to 
such a one I would say, Try Paraconia. It is far 
to travel, and in place of the smoothness of Madeira 
there would be roughness ; but how far men go, into 
what rough places, in search of rubies and ingots 
of gold; and life is more than these. 
During this beautiful weather merely to exist has 
seemed to me a sufficient pleasure: sometimes row- 
ing on the river, which is here about nine hundred 
feet wide—going up to the town with the tide and 
returning with the current when only a slight 
exertion suffices to keep the boat swiftly gliding 
over the pure green water. At other times I amuse 
myself by seeking for the resinous gum, known here 
by its Indian name maken. The scraggy wide-spread- 
ing bush, a kind of juniper, it is found on, repays 
me with many a scratch and rent for all the amber 
tears I steal. The gum is found in little lumps on 
