f the same mind as those of the dear
little Jumblies, whom Mr. Lear has made immortal in his New Book of
Nonsense; and we were bound to come back as soon as possible, and
not 'in twenty years or more,' if we wished them to say--

'If we live,
We too will go to sea in a sieve,
To the Hills of the Chankly bore.'

So we left. But it was sore leaving. People had been very kind;
and were ready to be kinder still; while we, busy--perhaps too busy-
-over our Natural History collections, had seen very little of our
neighbours; had been able to accept very few of the invitations
which were showered on us, and which would, I doubt not, have given
us opportunities for liking the islanders still more than we liked
them already.

Another cause made our leaving sore to us. The hunger for travel
had been aroused--above all for travel westward--and would not be
satisfied. Up the Orinoco we longed to go: but could not. To La
Guayra and Caraccas we longed to go: but dared not. Thanks to
Spanish Republican barbarism, the only regular communication with
that once magnificent capital of Northern Venezuela was by a filthy
steamer, the Regos Ferreos, which had become, from her very looks, a
byword in the port. On board of her some friends of ours had lately
been glad to sleep in a dog-hutch on deck, to escape the filth and
vermin of the berths; and went hungry for want of decent food.
Caraccas itself was going through one of its periodic revolutions--
it has not got through the fever fit yet--and neither life nor
property was safe.

But the longing to go westward was on us nevertheless. It seemed
hard to turn back after getting so far along the great path of the
human race; and one had to reason with oneself--Foolish soul,
whither would you go? You cannot go westward for ever. If you go
up the Orinoco, you will long to go up the Meta. If you get to Sta.
Fe de Bogota, you will not be content till you cross the Andes and
see Cotopaxi and Chimborazo. When you look down on the Pacific, you
will be craving to go to the Gallapagos, after Darwin; and then to
the Marquesas, after Herman Melville; and then to the Fijis, after
Seeman; and then to Borneo, after Brooke; and then to the
Archipelago, after Wallace; and then to Hindostan, and round the
world. And when you get home, the westward fever will be stronger
on you than ever, and you will crave to start again. Go home at
once, like a re