shipped a great deal of water. On passing the lower end of Shimuní, a long reach of the river was before us, undivided by islands; a magnificent expanse of water stretching away to the south-east. The country on the left bank is not, however, terra firma, but a portion of the alluvial land which forms the extensive and complex delta region of the Japurá. It is flooded every year at the time of high water, and is traversed by many narrow and deep channels which serve as outlets to the Japurá, or, at least, are connected with that river by means of the interior water-system of the Cupiyó. This inhospitable tract of country extends for several hundred miles, and contains in its midst an endless number of pools and lakes tenanted by multitudes of turtles, fishes, alligators, and water serpents. Our destination was a point on this coast situated about twenty miles below Shimuní, and a short distance from the mouth of the Ananá, one of the channels just alluded to as connected with the Japurá. After travelling for three hours in mid-stream we steered for the land and brought to under a steeply-inclined bank of crumbly earth, shaped into a succession of steps or terraces, marking the various halts which the waters of the river make in the course of subsidence. The coast line was nearly straight for many miles, and the bank averaged about thirty feet in height above the present level of the river: at the top rose the unbroken hedge of forest. No one could have divined that pools of water existed on that elevated land. A narrow level space extended at the foot of the bank. On landing the first business was to get breakfast. Whilst a couple of Indian lads were
