During the morning, the weather cleared sufficiently for us to go down to ‘The Boulders,’ huge masses of rock, either of the glacial period, or else thrown out from some mighty volcano into the valley beneath.  Here they form great caverns and caves, overhung with creepers, and so blocked up at the entrance, that it is difficult to find the way into them.  The effect of the alternate darkness and light, amid twisted creepers, some like gigantic snakes, others neatly coiled in true man-of-war fashion, is very striking and fantastic.  Every crevice is full of ferns and orchids and curious plants, while moths and butterflies flit about in every direction.  Imagine, if you can, scarlet butterflies gaily spotted, yellow butterflies with orange edgings, butterflies with dark blue velvety-looking upper wings, the under surface studded with bright owl-like peacock eyes, grey Atlas moths, and, crowning beauty of all, metallic blue butterflies, which are positively dazzling, even when seen in a shop, dead.  Imagine what they must be like, as they dart hither and thither, reflecting the bright sunshine from their wings, or enveloped in the sombre shade of a forest.  Most of them measure from two to ten inches in length from wing to wing, and many others flit about, equally remarkable for their beauty, though not so large.  Swallow-tails, of various colours, with tails almost as long, in proportion to their bodies, as those of their feathered namesakes; god-parents and ‘eighty-eights,’ with the figures 88 plainly marked on the reverse side of their rich blue or crimson wings.  In fact, if nature could by any possibility be gaudy, one might almost say that she is so in this part of the world.

From ‘The Boulders’ we went down a kind of natural staircase in the rock to the small cascade, which, owing to the recent rains, appeared to the best advantage, the black rocks and thick vegetation forming a fine background to the sheet of flowing white water and foam.  Our way lay first through some castor-oil plantations, and then along the side of a stream, fringed with rare ferns, scarlet begonias, and grey ageratum.  We returned to the hotel, too late for the general luncheon, and, after a short rest, went out for a gallop in the direction of the peak of Tijuca, past the large waterfall, the ‘Ladies’ Mile,’ and ‘Grey’s View.’  The forest is Government property; the roads are therefore excellent, and are in many places planted with flowers and shrubs, rare even here.  It seems a waste of money, however; for there is hardly any one to make use of the wide roads, and the forest would appear quite as beautiful in its pristine luxuriance.  To our eyes the addition of flowers from other countries is no improvement, though the feeling is otherwise here.  More than once I have had a bouquet of common stocks given to me as a grand present, while orchids, gardenias, stephanotis, large purple, pink, and white azaleas, orange-blossom, and roses, were growing around in unheeded profusion.