THE FALLS OF IGUAZU. 
31 
finished, and a rough guest-house, were the only 
buildings on the Brazilian side. There seemed 
to be hardly a soul about. The day was over¬ 
cast, with a gleam of sunshine now and again 
that set rainbows dancing in the spray. 
We were told the river was too much in flood 
to get the best effect of the Falls, but they can 
never look more beautiful than they did then. 
The owner of the guest-house took us along a 
forest track to show us the different points of 
view. Palms nodded above the undergrowth, 
great crimson and dark splotched leaves, 
vaguely reminiscent of greenhouses at home, 
spread their broad fans to the air, bamboos and 
bushes of all sorts filled up the gaps, and a little 
orange-flowered creeper wove its nets about 
their feet. 
We scrambled down the side of the cliff by a 
zigzag path, edged with pale pink begonias, 
and came out on a tiny platform that jutted out 
close to one of the Falls. The water glided over 
an edge of black rock in a column of tangled 
foam. From the pool below, the spray rose in 
such clouds that it was impossible to say where 
one ended and the other began. Looking across 
this part of the river, we saw a wooded island 
in the midst of the group of Falls. The river, 
a little way beyond it, suddenly reaches the 
drop, and is combed into a multitude of 
cataracts. Wherever we looked we saw them. 
The cascade by which we stood fell in a swift 
