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CARACAS.

to Andres Bello, a great poet and publicist; and to the eminent surgeon and physician, Dr. Vargas, one of the Presidents of the Republic.

The climate of Caracas has often been called a perpetual spring. “What can we conceive to be more delightful than a temperature which in the day keeps between 20° and 26°,[9] and at night between 16° and 18°, which is equally favorable to the plantain, the orange tree, the coffee tree, the apple, the apricot, and corn? José de Oviedo y Baños, the historiographer of Venezuela, calls the situation of Caracas that of a terrestrial paradise, and compares the Anauco and the neighboring torrents to the four rivers of the Garden of Eden.”[10]

The hotels, Sullivan describes as being as good as any in Europe. “You might travel from one end of Old Spain to the other without finding anything to be compared to them, either as regards cleanliness or the civility of the landlords.” But as here I am at home, you are most cordially invited to our mansion at the end of the Calle del Comercio, where you may verify for yourself the truth of the statements concerning the climate and productions of this fertile valley. We may at once enter the garden, which occupies nearly the whole square, where, after our rough ride, we can refresh ourselves with the fruits of the season.

Here, as you perceive, you find growing side by side the refreshing orange and the luscious apple, the pomegranate and the peach; the banana, the citron, the guava, the sapodilla, and papaw tree, all of them eminently tropical fruits, with the pear, the grape-vine, and other productions of temperate regions. Unsurpassed by any, not even by the famous Mangosteen of the Spicy Islands, you have here the delicious Chirimoya, or cherimoyer, as pronounced by Anglo-Saxons, and which I can only liken to lumps of flavored cream ready to be frozen, suspended from the branches of some fairy tree amidst the most overpowering perfume of its flowers; for it is in bearing all the year round, as indeed are most of the fruit trees you see about this garden, and consequently you may at all times enjoy the advantage of refreshing the inner as well as the outer man with a “wilderness of sweets.” Markham,[11] who has tasted both the chirimoya and mangosteen in their native habitat, gives the preference decidedly to the former, and says of it: “He who has not tasted the chirimoya fruit has yet to learn what fruit is.” “The pineapple, the mangosteen and the chirimoya,” says Dr. Seeman, “are considered the finest fruits in the world. I have tasted them in those localities in which they are supposed to attain their highest perfection—the pineapple in Guayaquil, the mangosteen in the Indian Archipelago, and the chirimoya on the slope of the Andes, and if I were called upon to act the part of a Paris, I would without hesitation assign the apple to the chirimoya. Its taste indeed surpasses that of every other fruit, and Haenke was quite right when he called it the masterpiece of nature.”

The numerous varieties of hot-house grapes, which in your variable climate of the north require so much skill and attention to perfect their growth, here thrive without the least care, and the vines which you see struggling here and there among the trees for some kind of support, proceed from cuttings which I brought over six years ago from one of the best regulated establishments in Connecticut.

Here, too, the stately Mauritia-palm of the Orinoco, the date-palm of the burning Sahara, the royal-palm of Cuba (Oredoxa Regia), and the oil-palm of Africa (Eleis guinensis) commingle their majestic crowns with the dense foliage of the mango tree of India, the aromatic cinnamon tree of Ceylon, the bread-fruit tree of Otaheite, and the sombre pines and cypress of northern regions, forming the most effective protection to the shade-loving magnolia and the delicate violet of your native woods.

Swarms of tiny and brilliant humming-birds flutter amid masses of highly-scented orange blossoms that perfume the air around us. Any one unacquainted with that bijou of the feathered tribe, would mistake it at first sight for some of the metallic-colored beetles which dispute with them the nectar of the fragrant flowers, so brilliant is the lustre shed by both. “For that peculiar charm which resides in flashing light combined with the most brilliant colors, the lustre of precious stones, there are no birds, no creatures that can compare with the humming-birds. Confined exclusively to America—whence we have already gathered between three and four hundred distinct species, and more are continually discovered—these lovely little winged gems were to the Mexican and Peruvian Indians the very quintessence of beauty. By these simple people they were called by various names, signifying ‘the rays of the sun,’ ‘the tresses of the day-star,’ and the like.”[12]

You may have noticed in your conservatories at home a well known creeper called the passion-flower, on account of a fancied similarity in the arrangement of its inflorescence with the instruments of torture employed in the martyrdom of the Saviour, such as the crown of thorns, the three nails, the hammer, and even the spots of sacred blood round the pillar of agony. The plants of this genus are general favorites with northern horticulturists only on account of the beauty and delicious aroma of their flowers, for they bear no fruit with you; but here, this constitutes their principal merit, especially that of the granadilla, which you may perceive intertwining its graceful vines amongst yonder arbor set up for its support. Huge watermelon-like fruits hang from its delicate tendrils as if suspended by a thread; cut open one of them; you will find it filled with a nectarian juice, which, when crushed in the mouth, regale your palate with the compound flavor of the strawberry and the peach. Other varieties of passion-flower—of which there are many though less pretentious in size than the granadilla—bear fruit equally rich in flavor. Unfortunately, not all fructify in the same locality, as they require different degrees of temperature, and maybe of atmospheric pressure, also, to ripen their fruit, which they cunningly obtain for themselves by “squatting” of their own accord higher up or lower down the mountains, as the case may be.

I could still point out to you many other delicious fruits in this garden were they in season, such as the tuna or Indian-fig, borne by the nopal, a species of cactus, on the fleshy, downy stems of which the cochineal insect is reared for those most valuable crimson and scarlet dyes “which far outshine the vaunted productions of ancient Tyre;” and the pitahaya, of the same family of plants, notable for the size and effulgence of its flowers. “It begins to open as the sun declines, and is in full expanse throughout the night, shedding a delicious fragrance, and offering its brimming goblet, filled with nectarious juice, to thousands of moths, and other crepuscular and nocturnal insects. When the moon is at the full in those cloudless nights whose loveliness is only known in the tropics, the broad blossom is seen as a circular dish nearly a foot in diameter, very full of petals, of which the outer series are of a yellowish hue, gradually paling to the centre, where they shine in the purest white. The numerous recumbent stamens surround the style, which rises in the midst like a polished shaft, the whole growing in its silvery beauty under the moonbeams, from the dark and matted foliage, and diffusing its delicious clove-like fragrance so profusely that the air is loaded with it for furlongs round.”[13]

I well remember one night when a distinguished foreigner, General Devereux, who rendered the patriot cause so marked a service by bringing over the Irish Legion to assist this country in her struggle for independence, honored me with a visit while keeping bachelor’s hall in this—to me then—earthly paradise. The Queen of Night was shining in all her glory, and the air redolent with the perfume of many exquisite flowers, among others that of the pitahaya just described, while the stillness that reigned around the spot, added to my youthful dreams of fairy lands I had lately visited across the seas, made me feel a particular pride about our mansion in the capital. Although the old hero was perfectly blind—as will be recollected by many who knew him in the United States where he resided afterwards—I could not resist the wish to invite him to take a stroll about the garden. As we passed close to the flowers of the pitahaya, the gallant old soldier stopped suddenly, and seizing me by the hand with an emotion that made me feel the deepest sympathy for the blind man, said: “How happy you must be here, my young friend, surrounded as you are by plants that shed such heavenly perfume!” But when we passed a bower of English honeysuckles, which was my special favorite, as I had planted it with my own hands, his emotions were indeed those of a man who felt as though everything on earth was lost to him—sweet home, friendly associations, the world itself in fact, and that he was only a wandering spirit in a strange sphere.

This, my good companion, reminds me too that such, more or less, is my own situation in this my native land, subject as it has been for years to political convulsions more disastrous to the peacefully inclined, than those subterranean fires which agitate the soil from time to time. Therefore our rambles in the capital must be of short duration, and following the route already pointed out by the traveller Sullivan, we will proceed on our journey towards the fertile valley of Aragua, stopping for the night at Las Adjuntas, a village delightfully situated at the foot of another lofty range of mountains which separates this from that of Caracas, near the junction of two mountain streams that form the Rio Guaire which passes near the capital.

Should you ever be troubled with nervousness or dyspepsia from too close application to business, or even be threatened with that more serious complaint of cold climates, consumption, don’t let your Doctor bother you with physic, nor delude yourself with a trip “down South,” Cuba, or even Europe; all this may at best prolong a miserable existence a little longer; instead of that, come here at once; bring plenty of books to while away the dolce far niente of this quiet place; or if you are a sportsman, your gun and fishing tackle; when sufficiently convalescent to undergo the fatigues of the journey, buy or hire horses for yourself and a good peon or guide, and start for the llanos, where you will have to rough it out as I did some years ago, and I guarantee you a radical cure.

At Las Adjuntas we have the choice of two roads, one for carriages, made at great cost since Sullivan’s visit to the country, and the other one right over the mountains; as this is by far the most picturesque of the two and the one described by him, we will follow on his footsteps, if you wish to enjoy the glorious scenery, of which he says;

“Next morning, at 3 A.M., our faithful mozo roused us,—at San Pedro—and we found our mules already saddled. The morning was very cold, and a cloak was by no means disagreeable. As far as I could make out by the light of a most glorious moon, San Pedro must be a very picturesque and flourishing village. We continued ascending through a thickly-wooded, mountainous path, for about three hours, when we found ourselves along the summit of the mountain, here called Las Cocuizas. Here the scenery was truly magnificent. The road wound along the summit of the Sierra, giving alternate views of the valley of the Tuy, with the distant valley of Aragua on the one hand, and the valley of Ocumare bounded the snow-capped mountains that separate the valleys from the plains on the other. Out of the main valleys narrow little glens wind, and nestle up into the mountains, till lost to view. Their rounded sides, and the emerald brilliancy of nature’s carpet with which they were clothed, reminded me of some of the glens of the Cheviots.

“That morning’s moonlight ride along the summits of the sierra of Las Cocuizas was certainly one of the most enjoyable I ever remember. It was almost like magic, when as the sun began to approach the horizon, the perfect stillness of the forests beneath was gradually broken by the occasional note of some early riser of the winged inhabitants, till at length, as the day itself began to break, the whole forest seemed to be suddenly warmed into life, sending forth choir after choir of gorgeous-plumaged songsters, each after his own manner, to swell the chorus of greeting—a discordant one, I fear it must be owned—to the glorious sun; and when the morning light enabled you to see down into the misty valleys beneath, there were displayed to our enchanted gaze zones of fertility embracing almost every species of tree and flower that flourishes between the Tierra Caliente and the regions of perpetual snow. It certainly was a view of almost unequalled magnificence. We were riding amongst apple and peach trees that might have belonged to an English orchard, and on whose branches we almost expected to see the blackbird and the chaffinch; while a few hundred yards below, parrots and macaws, monkeys and mocking-birds were sporting among the palms and tree-ferns of a tropical climate. I consider that this view alone would repay any lover of fine scenery for all the troubles and risks of crossing the Atlantic, for I do not know where one to be compared with it is to be found in Europe.”

This mountain takes the name of Las Cocuizas from the abundance of Agave plants growing here, and which impart such peculiar aspect to the landscape as we descend towards the bed of the Tuy, at the foot of the mountain. Here we must stop to breakfast and pass the sun before we proceed on our journey along the Tierra Caliente not far from our resting-place.

“We found the pretty village of Las Cocuizas,” proceeds Sullivan, “situated at the entrance of a delicious little glen, down which warbled the waters of the Tuy. The Venta, in fact nearly the whole village was shaded by one enormous saman-tree,[14] which to the dusty and wearied traveller gave it a most enticing appearance; neither did it disappoint our expectations, for a cleaner room and a better breakfast better cooked and better served, I never wish to taste. This venta at Las Cocuizas is most enchantingly situated at the foot of the mountain and at the entrance of the valley of the Tuy, which is there a mere glen; one side is entirely shaded by this enormous tree, and the other overhanging the Tuy, which with its rocky bed and thickly-wooded, precipitous banks, reminded one very much of some of the tributaries of the Tweed. The venta would be a charming place to stay at for a few days’ angling in the Tuy, which I believe is very good.”

After leaving the venta of Las Cocuizas, we wade through the waters of the Tuy—no bridge being provided here—and proceed along a well graded road for carts and carriages skirting the base of another ridge of mountains until we reach the village of El Consejo, where the great valley of Aragua, seventy miles in length, properly commences. And now we are in the great coffee region, “the garden of Venezuela” as it is very aptly called by common accord. As we ride towards the town of La Victoria, where we shall stop for the night, we pass several extensive plantations of that delicious shrub, shaded like the cacao by those stupendous erythrinas which you might mistake for a primeval forest, were it not for the uniformity of their growth and dazzling blossoms. Nothing in your vaunted system of cultivation in the North can excel the care bestowed upon these plantations, which must be kept in the best order to yield handsome returns; but as we cannot stop to visit one of these just now, you will permit me to repeat what the traveller often quoted before, says in regard to the region we are traversing:

“The valleys of Aragua are the most thickly populated and the most highly cultivated of all the districts of Venezuela. The level of the valley is two thousand feet below the valley of Caracas, consequently the heat much more intense. Coffee is now the chief article of exportation from Venezuela, the fluctuating price of which has of late years been very injurious to the country. The berry grown is of a superior quality, and fetches a much better price than the Cuban or Brazilian coffee, though not quite so high as that grown in Jamaica. Some of the coffee and sugar estates we passed were on the largest scale, employing as many as two hundred slaves,[15] besides the same number of laborers. A coffee plantation, either in blossom or when the berry is ripe, is the most beautiful culture in the world. The plant itself, with its regular shoots like a miniature tree, and red berries, is one of the most graceful shrubs I know; and as between the rows of coffee-trees they usually plant plantains and bananas, these with their enormous clusters of yellow fruits and their leaves of some six or eight feet in length, add greatly to the effect, and give the country the appearance of a large fruit garden. Moreover, as it is necessary to plant the mango, and other large fast-growing trees, to protect the ripening berry from the deluging rains and scorching heats, whenever you pass a coffee plantation, even in the hottest day in the midst of summer, when the whole face of the country is parched up and of an unhealthy brown color, the eye is continually refreshed by the cool, verdant appearance of these shaded gardens.”

I may add that the coffee of Venezuela is of various qualities, according to whether it is raised in Tierra Caliente or Tierra Fria, id est, coffee of the low, warm valleys, or coffee of mountainous districts; this last is superior to the former, and bears in consequence the highest price in the market. Again, café trillado, and café descerezado, which means coffee dried in the berry as it is gathered, and husked afterwards by a tread-mill composed of a heavy wooden wheel revolving in a circular trough of masonry; and coffee deprived at once of its pulpy covering by machinery as soon as it is picked, dried afterwards in the sun upon extensive platforms of masonry called patios, and passed through different sets of machinery to deprive the grain or bean of the adhering shell and pellicle. The coffee thus prepared is superior in quality to that which is trillado for want of means on the part of the planter to put up the expensive works required for this operation, and therefore bears a higher price.

Interspersed with these plantations are others of no less importance to the industry of these valleys, such as indigo, cotton, indian-corn, wheat and tobacco, all of them requiring the same share of careful cultivation and intelligent management. “The road we were following,” continues Sullivan, “was so well kept and so well wooded, and the hedges so neatly clipped, that I could hardly sometimes help fancying myself riding down some country lanes in England. We followed one lime hedge, which enclosed a coffee plantation, for upwards of two miles. It was the most perfectly kept hedge I had seen in any country; it was four or five feet high and about three feet thick, and throughout its whole length, I don’t believe there was a single flaw through which a dog could have forced its way. Several slaves were employed in trimming it. In fact, in this climate, where the growth of all inanimate nature is unceasing, and so rapid, it must employ several hands continually to keep it in such beautiful order. The scent of the lime as we approached it from some parched country we had been crossing previously, was most delicious.”

As there is nothing to interest us in the towns along this route, we will pass by San Mateo, La Victoria and Turmero, all of them pleasantly surrounded by plantations until we reach Maracay, the point of our destination. On our way thither, we come up with that giant of the vegetable world, the Saman de Güere, so well described by Humboldt in his Travels, and subsequently by Sullivan. As their statements are corroborative of the facts given elsewhere by me respecting these enormous but most graceful mimosas, I will here use the language of the last mentioned traveller about that of the hacienda de Güere.

“Soon after leaving Turmero we caught sight of the far-famed Saman de Güere, and in about an hour’s time arrived at the hamlet of Güere, from whence it takes its name. It is supposed to be the oldest tree in the world, for so great was the reverence of the Indians for it on account of its age at the time of the Spanish conquest, that the Government issued a decree for its protection from all injury, and it has ever since been public property. It shows no sign whatever of decay, but it is as fresh and green as it was most probably a thousand years ago. The trunk of this magnificent tree is only sixty feet high by thirty feet in circumference, so that it is not so much the enormous size of the Saman de Güere that constitutes its great attraction, as the wonderful spread of its magnificent branches, and the perfect dome-like shape of its head, which is so exact and regular, that one could almost fancy some extinct race of giants had been exercising their topiarian art upon it. The circumference of this dome is said to be nearly six hundred feet, and the measure of its semicircular head very nearly as great. The saman is a species of mimosa, and what is curious and adds greatly to its beauty and softness is, that the leaves of this giant of nature are as small and delicate as those of the silver willow, and are equally as sensitive to every passing breeze.”

And now for the most picturesque of all the towns on our long ride, Maracay, not on account of any architectural display about its buildings, for it has no pretensions of this kind, but for its many gardens, each house being literally embowered in the choicest productions of the tropics in the way of fruits, such as orange, lime and lemon trees, both sweet and sour; caimito or star-apple, a creamy and luscious fruit growing upon one of the most beautiful trees with which I am acquainted; the same might be said of two other fruit-trees cultivated in these gardens, the mamon and cotopriz; both bearing great bunches of an oval fruit the size of a pigeon’s egg, olive-green in the former, and bright yellow in the latter, containing a kernel enveloped in a sweet, sub-acid pulp; bread-fruit trees of two kinds and accordingly distinguished as fruta de pan and pan de palo, bread-fruit and bread-tree—the former being a large pulpy and greenish fruit very like an Osage orange but larger, containing great numbers of chestnut-like seeds, which roasted or boiled taste very much like bread, and the latter a fruit precisely like its congener in appearance, but destitute of seeds, which assimilates it still more to the “staff of life” when boiled or baked, for it is beautifully white and compact inside.

In addition to the foregoing, these gardens offer you a fine display of other tropical trees no less esteemed for their grateful shade and their delicious fruits, such as sapotes and sapodillas, both elegant in form as well as in bearing; and so is also the splendid mamey apple-tree (mamea Americana) bearing great quantities of large, round and heavy fruits, brown outside, and golden-yellow within, from which marmalades and other delicacies are made by the charming Maracayeras.

The family to which the famous chirimoya belongs (anonaciæ) have also three other representatives hardly inferior to that “master-piece of nature,” viz.; the guanábana (anona muricata) or sour-sop—an ugly name in English for such fine fruit—from which a most cooling drink is made, and still finer ices; the custard-apple, which needs no further explanation than its name to recommend it; and the riñon, (anona squamosa) also a custardy kindney-like fruit, hence its name.

Butter being expensive, and difficult to keep in this climate, nature has provided a substitute for it in the fruit of the fine tree (Persea gratissima), consecrated, as the name implies, to Perseus, the son of Jupiter and Danaë; thus showing the wisdom of the botanist over the less cultivated English settlers of the Caribean islands, who call it alligator-pear, I presume, from the fact of its being indigenous to a country abounding in saurian reptiles, although I am of opinion that a creature of this sort would rather prefer a more substantial morsel in the shape of a fat Briton, to a fruit which is well adapted to the taste of demigods. In shape it resembles a large pear, but the interior of its rind is lined with a marrow-like substance of a yellowish color, which assimilates very nearly to butter, the place of which it supplies at the breakfast-table. It is, in fact, vegetable-butter, and many prefer it to the ordinary kind.

The extensive family of leguminous or pod-bearing trees also grace these gardens with three additional members remarkable for fine foliage and useful products, such as the algarroba, with hard-shelled pods, containing a number of brown, round seeds or beans—also very hard, enveloped in a farinaceous and very nutricious fecula; a fine aromatic resin, good for varnishes, exudes from the trunk and branches of this tree, and a still finer one can be extracted from its horny pericarp by infusion in alcohol or other extractive medium; guamos (Inga) of various kinds, with pellucid pods one and two feet in length, containing a row of beans enveloped in white, cottony pulp, most grateful to the taste; and the unrivalled tamarind, either as regards beauty of foliage, brilliancy of blossoms, or the delicacy of its acidulous pulpy pods; these are candied either in a green state or when fully ripe, affording in the latter case a most refreshing drink to the fever-stricken in this climate, when made into a decoction. In blossom, the tamarind-tree is one of the most charming objects to behold, for amid its feathery, dark-green foliage, somewhat similar to that of the hemlock, issues a profusion of golden-yellow branches of delicate flowers, almost dazzling to the eyes.

The coco-palm, although far away from the sea-coast, its native habitat, also flourishes in great perfection, contributing not a little to the splendor of the vegetation in these truly tropical gardens, with its glorious crown of monster leaves. And last, though not least, the plantain and banana claim here the supremacy which everyone accords them over all productions of the tropics. A few plants of each only are sufficient to supply a whole family with bread, vegetables, fruit, and preserves of various kinds. “We might be surprised,” observes Humboldt, “at the small extent of these cultivated spots, if we did not recollect that an acre planted with plantains produces nearly twenty times as much food as the same space sown with corn. In Europe, our wheat, barley, and rye cover vast spaces of ground; and in general the arable lands touch each other whenever the inhabitants live upon corn. It is different under the torrid zone, where man obtains food from plants which yield more abundant and earlier harvests. In those favored climates the fertility of the soil is proportioned to the heat and humidity of the atmosphere. An immense population finds abundant nourishment within a narrow space covered with plantains, casava, yams, and maize.”[16]

Well has the immortal bard of the Torrid Zone[17] sung the marvellous exuberance of this plant in the following lines, which I regret to be unable to translate.

“Y para tí el banano,

Desmaya al peso de su dulce carga.

El banano, primero

De cuantos concedió bellos presentes

Providencia à, las gentes

Del Ecuador feliz con mano larga;

No ya de humanas artes obligado

El premio rinde opimo;

No es á la podadera, no al arado,

Deudor de su racimo.

Escasa industria bástale cual puede

Robar á sus fatigas mano esclava;

Crece veloz, y cuando exbausto acaba,

Adulta prole en torno le sucede.”

Silva á la Zona Tórrida.

Water being abundant throughout these gardens by the provident care of the inhabitants in bringing it in flowing streams from a great distance, they present at all times of the year, even during the driest months of summer, the perpetual spring-like verdure which constitutes their principal charm. Not far from here is the fine lake of Tacarigua or Valencia, which by its gradual but marked evaporation, is constantly adding to the already extensive area of fertile land nowhere to be found like it in the wide world, and which doubtless extorted, even from an Englishman, the following confession:

“It is a great pity Venezuela is so much out of the high roads of travel, and that the inconveniences, for Europeans, of getting at it, are so great. It is, in my opinion, the most beautiful country, as regards climate, scenery, and productions, in the world. The inhabitants are intelligent, civil, and honest; and although there is no excessive wealth in the country, there is, on the other hand, no great poverty, and actual want is unknown, where beef can be procured to any amount for a half penny a pound, and plantains and bananas almost for nothing. The inns are excellent, and travelling perfectly safe. You may, on the sides of its precipitous valleys, in a few hours, ascend from the productions of the torrid zone to those of the frigid. You may, if you like, dine off beefsteak and potatoes, cooled down with French claret or real London stout; or, if you prefer it, you may, in imitation of Leo X. and the Emperor Vitellius, feast your guests on joints of monkey and jaguar, and have your entremêts of parrots’ tongues and humming-birds’ breasts washed down with sparkling pulque, tapped from the graceful maguey growing at your very door. In fact, there is no luxury you cannot enjoy at a moderate expense. Servants are cheap; and you can buy a horse for five shillings, though it will cost you fifteen to have him shod! The shooting on the llanos and in the mountains, according to all accounts, is very grand. The woods are filled with jaguar and ocelot, to say nothing of snakes, and the plains with deer and wild cattle.

“If any kind fairy were to offer me the sovereignty of any part of the world out of Europe, with power to rule it as I choose, my choice would certainly fall on Venezuela. I am fully convinced it only wants a government strong and stable enough to ensure the necessary protection to capital and property, to render it one of the most flourishing countries in the world. I look back upon the few weeks I spent there as amongst the most enjoyable I ever passed; and if ever any opportunity was to offer of revisiting that delicious country, I should do so with pleasure. Any traveller, wishing to judge for himself, has only to go by the West India steamer to St. Thomas, where he meets the sailing-packet for La Guaira, which he reaches in four or five days; and with a few letters of introduction, or even without any, hospitality will meet him on all hands, and he will never feel a moment hang heavy on his hands.”[18]

And now, seated under the refreshing foliage of these paradisaical gardens, rather than expose you to the dangers of a demi-savage country, I will recount to you the adventures of a former journey, and the peculiarities of a still more wonderful region.