NOTES OF A NATURALIST. 



my berth to enjoy the first quiet night's rest. If the 

 weather should hold on as it now fared, there was but 

 a slight prospect of enjoying the renowned scenery of 

 the channels, or of making much acquaintance with 

 the singular vegetation of this new region. It was 

 therefore with intense relief and positive delight that 

 I found, on sallying forth before sunrise, a clear sky 

 and a moderate breeze from the south. Snow had 

 fallen during the night, and was now hard frozen ; and 

 in the tent, where my plants had lain during the 

 night, it was necessary to break off fragments of ice 

 with numbed fingers before laying them in paper. 



We weighed anchor about daybreak, and the Sth 

 of June, my first day in the Channels, will ever remain 

 as a bright spot in my memory. Wellington Island, 

 which lay on our right, is over a hundred and fifty 

 miles in length, a rough mountain range averaging 

 apparently about three thousand feet in height, with 

 a moderately uniform coast-line. On the other hand, 

 the mainland presents a constantly varying outline, 

 indented by numberless coves and several deep narrow 

 sounds running far into the recesses of the Cordillera. 

 In the intermediate channel crowds of islets, some rising 

 to the size of mountains, some mere rocks peeping 

 above the water, present an endless variety of form 

 and outline. But what gives to the scenery a unique 

 character is the wealth of vegetation that adorns this 

 seemingly inclement region. From the water's edge 

 to a height which I estimated at fourteen hundred feet 

 the rugged slopes were covered with an unbroken 

 mantle of evergreen trees and shrubs. Above that 

 height the bare declivities were clothed with snow. 



