ains,
and protected from the waves of the sea by a coral reef, which encircles
at a distance the entire line of coast. The reef is broken in several
parts so that ships can pass through, and the lake of smooth water
within, thus affords a safe harbour, as well as a channel for the native
canoes. The low land which comes down to the beach of coral sand is
covered by the most beautiful productions of the inter-tropical regions.
In the midst of bananas, orange, cocoa-nut, and breadfruit trees, spots
are cleared where yams, sweet potatoes, sugar-cane, and pine-apples are
cultivated. Even the brushwood is a fruit tree, namely, the guava,
which from its abundance is as noxious as a weed. In Brazil I have often
admired the contrast of varied beauty in the banana, palm, and orange
tree; here we have in addition the breadfruit tree, conspicuous from its
large, glossy, and deeply digitated leaf. It is admirable to behold
groves of a tree, sending forth its branches with the force of an
English Oak, loaded with large and most nutritious fruit. However little
on most occasions utility explains the delight received from any fine
prospect, in this case it cannot fail to enter as an element in the
feeling. The little winding paths, cool from the surrounding shade, led
to the scattered houses; and the owners of these everywhere gave us a
cheerful and most hospitable reception."

Darwin himself has told us, after going round the world that "in calling
up images of the past, I find the plains of Patagonia frequently cross
before my eyes; yet these plains are pronounced by all to be most
wretched and useless. They are characterised only by negative
possessions; without habitations, without water, without trees, without
mountains, they support only a few dwarf plants. Why then--and the case
is not peculiar to myself--have these arid wastes taken so firm
possession of my mind? Why have not the still more level, the greener
and more fertile pampas, which are serviceable to mankind, produced an
equal impression? I can scarcely analyse these feelings, but it must be
partly owing to the free scope given to the imagination. The plains of
Patagonia are boundless, for they are scarcely practicable, and hence
unknown; they bear the stamp of having thus lasted for ages, and there
appears no limit to their duration through future time. If, as the
ancients supposed, the flat earth was surrounded by an impassable
breadth of water, or by deserts heated