sides of Sugar-loaf mountain, while on the right frowns the lofty fortress of Santa Cruz. Further in looms the fortified isle of Lagem, commanding the central passage, and throwing its protection over the romantic cove, from which Bota Foga looks out upon the waters. As the eye wanders further up the bay, it encounters the island of Cobras, buried under its frowning batteries, and the Ville-Gagnon with its castellated summits; while on the opposite side a giant rock has walked out into the waters, and taken up its lofty, independent position.

The bay, studded with picturesque islands, circles up bold and beautiful some thirty miles into the main land. The shore presents here a glittering beach, which retreats into the green recesses of a deep ravine, and is there overhung by some stupendous cliff, which throws its dark shadows below. The whole bay is like a resplendent lake looking to heaven amid Alpine pinnacles. High above all soars the steep Corcovada, where plays the first blush of morn, and where the dying day lingers; while the Organ mountains, with their sharp peaks, pour down the harmony of the winds. All between these lofty barriers and the quiet bay presents a forest of fantastic cones; while swinging depths of shade wave over the glad rills that leap down their sides, and make music at their base. It would seem as if some volcano had thrown up these hills in a frolic; or as if

some Titanic spirit, imbued with a love of the wonderful, had been permitted to work out its conceptions in these wild shapes.

The city descends from mountain coves to the strand of the bay, like a spreading stream, which encounters here a rolling hill and there a projecting bluff. Some of the elevations are crowned with public edifices, but no princely palace, gorgeous dome, or glittering spire, strongly arrests the eye. The architecture of man here is so inferior to that of nature, it ought to make an apology whenever it shows itself. It is like the tent of an Arab throwing up its dirty cone beneath the magnificent umbrage of the palm. It is said the genius of a people is in harmony with the scenery in the midst of which they have been reared; but here is scenery that might almost throw sunbows over the dreams of the dead, and architecture sombre enough to send even a Quaker to sleep. Such is the aspect of the city as seen from our frigate, swinging at her anchors in front of the imperial palace. A nearer view may possibly bring out some concealed beauty. But cities, like fashionable women, are very apt to betray their charms at the first blush.

MONDAY, DEC. 22. I visited the shore to-day, in company with Dr. Mosely and Mr. Spieden, our purser. We landed in front of the palace-square. A

flight of broken wood steps took us to the top of the sea-wall, where we found ourselves on a paved parapet, presenting an open area of several hundred feet, which was broken only by the dark form of a fountain, from which the water fell in profusion. We here encountered a swarm of half-naked slaves, sufficiently diversified in their features to represent every African tribe from which they were stolen. Some had not lost their first look of wonder, while others seemed as those in whom grief and hope had long since perished. They were engaged in transporting merchandise, and seemed to be the walking drays of the city. They carry these enormous burdens on their heads, and trot along with a sonorous grunt, which works itself off into a sort of You wonsong. der how they can have so much wind to spare for their tune.

We next encountered a little carriage, with a child in it, drawn by a diminutive pony. You might almost put the whole establishment into a good sized market-basket. It was attended by some half dozen slaves, who seemed extremely anxious about their charge. Where they were going I know not; but the whole group presented a striking picture of the extremes of human life. That child would have been just as happy in the strong arms of its nurse; the globe would probably have turned on its axle just as long; but parental pride and folly would not have