describes an equatorial day,
as observed near the mouths of the Para and the Amazons:--

How happy am I here! How thoroughly do I now understand many things
which before were incomprehensible to me! The glorious features of this
wonderful region, where all the powers of nature are harmoniously
combined, beget new sensations and ideas. I now feel that I better know
what it is to be a historian of nature. Overpowered by the contemplation
of an immense solitude, of a profound and inexpressible stillness,
it is, doubtless, impossible at once to perceive all its divine
characteristics; but the feeling of its vastness and grandeur cannot
fail to arouse in the mind of the beholder the thrilling emotions
of a hitherto inexperienced delight.

It is three o'clock in the morning, I quit my hammock; for the
excitement of my spirits banishes sleep. I open my window, and gaze on
the silent solemnity of night. The stars shine with their accustomed
lustre, and the moon's departing beam is reflected by the clear surface
of the river. How still and mysterious is every thing around me! I take
my dark lantern, and enter the cool verandah, to hold converse with my
trusty friends the trees and shrubs nearest to our dwelling. Most of
them are asleep, with their leaves closely pressed together; others,
however, which repose by day, stand erect, and expand themselves in
the stillness of night. But few flowers are open; only those of the
sweet-scented Paulli_nia_ greet me with a balmy fragrance, and
thine, lofty mango, the dark shade of whose leafy crown shields me from
the dews of night. Moths flit, ghost-like, round the seductive light of
my lantern. The meadows, ever breathing freshness, are now saturated
with dew, and I feel the damp of the night air on my heated limbs.
A Cicada, a fellow-lodger in the house, attracts me by its domestic
chirp back into my bedroom, and is there my social companion, while,
in a happy dreaming state, I await the coming day, kept half awake by
the buzz of the mosquites, the kettle-drum croak of the bull-frog, or
the complaining cry of the goatsucker.

About five o'clock I again look out, and behold the morning twilight.
A beautiful even tone of grey, finely blended with a warmth-giving red,
now overspreads the sky. The zenith only still remains dark. The trees,
the forms of which become gradually distinct, are gently agitated by
the land wind, which blows from the east. The red morning light and
its reflexes