four or five hundred yards by land.

It will take you five days, from the Indian habitation on the point of the
island, to where these falls and rapids terminate.

There are no huts in the way. You must bring your own cassava bread along
with you, hunt in the forest for your meat and make the night's shelter for
yourself.

Here is a noble range of hills, all covered with the finest trees rising
majestically one above the other, on the western bank, and presenting as
rich a scene as ever the eye would wish to look on. Nothing in vegetable
nature can be conceived more charming, grand and luxuriant.

How the heart rejoices in viewing this beautiful landscape when the sky is
serene, the air cool and the sun just sunk behind the mountain's top!

The hayawa-tree perfumes the woods around: pairs of scarlet aras are
continually crossing the river. The maam sends forth its plaintive note,
the wren chants its evening song. The caprimulgus wheels in busy flight
around the canoe, while "Whip-poor-will" sits on the broken stump near the
water's edge, complaining as the shades of night set in.

A little before you pass the last of these rapids two immense rocks appear,
nearly on the summit of one of the many hills which form this far-extending
range where it begins to fall off gradually to the south.

They look like two ancient stately towers of some Gothic potentate rearing
their heads above the surrounding trees. What with their situation and
their shape together, they strike the beholder with an idea of antiquated