the woods; little shanties
belonging to the _seringeros_, or rubber-makers, here and there broke
the solitude, and occasionally a large group of half-clad natives
greeted us from the shore. A labyrinth of channels connects the Amazon
with the Para; the steamers usually take the Tajapuru. This natural
canal is of great depth, and from fifty to one hundred yards in width;
so that, hemmed in by two green walls, eighty feet-high, we seemed to
be sailing through a deep gorge; in some places it was so narrow it was
nearly overarched by the foliage. One hundred and twenty-five miles from
Gurupa is Breves, a busy little town on the southwest corner of the
great island of Marajo. The inhabitants, mostly Portuguese, are engaged
in the rubber trade; the Indians in the vicinity manufacture fancy
earthen-ware and painted cuyas or calabashes.

Soon after leaving Breves we entered the Para River, which suddenly
begins with the enormous width of eight miles. It is, however, shallow,
and contains numerous shoals and islands. It is properly an estuary,
immense volumes of fresh water flowing into it from the south. The tides
are felt through its entire length of one hundred and sixty miles, but
the water is only slightly brackish. It has a dingy orange-brown color.
A narrow blue line on our left, miles away, was all that was visible, at
times, of the island of Marajo; and as we passed the broad mouth of the
Tocantins, we were struck with the magnificent sea-like expanse, for
there was scarcely a point of mainland to be seen.

[Illustration: Para.]

At 4 P.M., eighteen hours from Breves, we entered the peaceful bay of
Goajara, and anchored in front of the city of Para. Beautiful was the
view of the city from the harbor in the rays of the declining sun. The
towering spires and cupolas, the palatial government buildings, the long
row of tall warehouses facing a fleet of schooners, ships, and steamers,
and pretty white villas in the suburbs, nestling in luxuriant gardens,
were to us, who had just come down the Andes from mediaeval Quito, the
_ultima thule_ of civilization. We seemed to have stepped at once from
the Amazon to New York or London. We might, indeed, say _ne plus ultra_
in one respect--we had crossed the continent, and Para was the terminus
of our wanderings, the end of romantic adventures, of privations and
perils. We were kindly met on the pier by Mr. James Henderson, an
elderly Scotchman, whom a long residence in Para, a bott