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THE NATURALIST.

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A DAY IN BRAZIL.

The following is a translation of the leaf from the journal of Dr. Martins, dated Para, August 16, 1819; and describes an equatorial day, as observed near the mouths of the Para and the Amazons:—­

How happy am I here!  How thoroughly do I now understand many things which before were incomprehensible to me!  The glorious features of this wonderful region, where all the powers of nature are harmoniously combined, beget new sensations and ideas.  I now feel that I better know what it is to be a historian of nature.  Overpowered by the contemplation of an immense solitude, of a profound and inexpressible stillness, it is, doubtless, impossible at once to perceive all its divine characteristics; but the feeling of its vastness and grandeur cannot fail to arouse in the mind of the beholder the thrilling emotions of a hitherto inexperienced delight.

It is three o’clock in the morning, I quit my hammock; for the excitement of my spirits banishes sleep.  I open my window, and gaze on the silent solemnity of night.  The stars shine with their accustomed lustre, and the moon’s departing beam is reflected by the clear surface of the river.  How still and mysterious is every thing around me!  I take my dark lantern, and enter the cool verandah, to hold converse with my trusty friends the trees and shrubs nearest to our dwelling.  Most of them are asleep, with their leaves closely pressed together; others, however, which repose by day, stand erect, and expand themselves in the stillness of night.  But few flowers are open; only those of the sweet-scented Paulli_nia_ greet me with a balmy fragrance, and thine, lofty mango, the dark shade of whose leafy crown shields me from the dews of night.  Moths flit, ghost-like, round the seductive light of my lantern.  The meadows, ever breathing freshness, are now saturated with dew, and I feel the damp of the night air on my heated limbs.  A Cicada, a fellow-lodger in the house, attracts me by its domestic chirp back into my bedroom, and is there my social companion, while, in a happy dreaming state, I await the coming day, kept half awake by the buzz of the mosquites, the kettle-drum croak of the bull-frog, or the complaining cry of the goatsucker.

About five o’clock I again look out, and behold the morning twilight.  A beautiful even tone of grey, finely blended with a warmth-giving red, now overspreads the sky.  The zenith only still remains dark.  The trees, the forms of which become gradually distinct, are gently agitated by the land wind, which blows from the east.  The red morning light and its reflexes play over the dome-topped caryocars, bertholetias, and symphonias.  The branches and foliage are in motion, and all the lately slumbering dreamers are now awake, and bathe in the refreshing air of