Chap. II. SCEXEEY ON THE EIYEE. 21 
no description can convey a full idea to one who has had 
no experience in the most favoured regions of a tropical 
climate. The sun was just rising, and as the first rays, 
gilding the glossy leaves of the forest, fell upon the bronze- 
coloured bodies of our men, letting the naked forms of 
their athletic frame appear in all the contrast of light and 
shade, while accents, plaintive and imploring, strained forth 
from their lips, I thought to hear the sacred spell by 
which, unconscious of its power, these men were subduing 
their own half-savage nature. At once the same song was 
repeated from behind a projecting corner of the bank, 
and other voices joined those of our crew in the sacred 
notes. Two canoes, covered from our view, had anchored 
near us during the night. The song at last died away in the 
wilderness. A silent prayer — our anchor was raised, and, 
with a wild shout of the crew, twelve oars simultaneously 
struck the water. The sun was glittering in the river. 
The tops of the trees were steeped in light — monkeys were 
swinging in the branches — splendid macaws flew in pairs 
from bank to bank — all around exhibited the glory and 
brightness of superabundant nature. 
Near the mouth of the river, as far up as the higher 
end of its delta, the banks are almost on the water's level, 
overgrown with reeds, mangroves, and a low species of 
palm-tree, the latter forming extensive thickets in the 
swamps. After a distance of fourteen or fifteen miles, the 
land gradually becomes a little higher, and steep embank- 
ments of a brown or reddish clay rise to some ten or 
twenty feet above the water. The low palm thickets 
of the swampy region disappear, and a vegetation of 
splendid trees, mostly exogenous, overhung with blooming 
vines, takes their place. Flowery garlands, swung from 
branch to branch, hang over the stream, while now and 
