Last evening we walked out in the environs of this garden of Eden, by the banks of the river Marques, amidst a most extraordinary union of tropical and European vegetation; the hills covered with firs and the plains with sugar cane. We walked amongst bananas, shaddock, chirimoyas, and orange trees, and but a few yards higher up, bending over and almost touching them, were groves of oak and pine. The river pursues its bright unwearied course through this enchanting landscape, now falling in cascades, now winding placidly at the foot of the silent hills and among the dark woods, and in one part forming a most beautiful natural bath, by pouring its waters into an enclosure of large, smooth, flat stones, overshadowed by noble trees.
A number of the old Indian customs are still kept up here, modified by the introduction of Christian doctrines, in their marriages, feasts, burials, and superstitious practices. They also preserve the same simplicity in their dress, united with the same vanity and love of show in their ornaments, which always distinguished them. The poorest Indian woman still wears a necklace of red coral, or a dozen rows of red beads, and their dishes are still the gicalli, or, as they were called by the Spaniards, gicaras, made of a species of gourd, or rather a fruit resembling it, and growing on a low tree, which fruit they cut in two, each one furnishing two dishes; the inside is scooped out, and a durable varnish given it by means of a mineral earth, of different bright colors, generally red. On the outside they paint flowers, and some of them are also gilded. They are extremely pretty,
