all three together on the mat, which was spread over the floor of our cabin, and soon fell asleep.
On awaking at sunrise the next morning, we found ourselves gliding upwards with the tide, along the Bahia or Bay, as it is called, of Goajará. This is a broad channel lying between the mainland and a line of islands which extends some distance beyond the city. Into it three large rivers discharge their waters, namely, the Guamá, the Acará, and the Mojú; so that it forms a kind of sub-estuary within the grand estuary of Pará. It is nearly four miles broad. The left bank, along which we were now sailing, was beautiful in the extreme; not an inch of soil was to be seen; the water frontage presented a compact wall of rich and varied forest, resting on the surface of the stream. It seemed to form a finished border to the water scene, where the dome-like, rounded shapes of exogenous trees which constituted the mass formed the groundwork, and the endless diversity of broad-leaved Heliconiæ and Palms—each kind differing in stem, crown, and fronds—the rich embroidery. The morning was calm and cloudless; and the slanting beams of the early sun, striking full on the front of the forest, lighted up the whole most gloriously. The only sound of life which reached us was the call of the Serracúra (Gallinula Cayennensis), a kind of wild-fowl; all else was so still that the voices of boatmen could be plainly heard from canoes passing a mile or two distant from us. The sun soon gains great power on the water, but with it the sea-breeze increases in strength, moderating the heat, which would otherwise be almost insup-
