The Indians, by the way, have a characteristic name for the leaf. They call it “forno,” on account of its resemblance to the immense shallow pans in which they bake their farinha over the mandioca ovens. The Victoria regia, with its formidable armor of spines, its gigantic leaves, and beautiful flowers, deepening in color from the velvety white outer leaves through every shade of rose to deepest crimson, and fading again to a creamy, yellowish tint in the heart of the flower, has been described so often that I hardly dare dwell upon it, for fear of wearying the reader. And yet we could not see it growing in its native waters—a type, as it were, of the luxuriance of tropical nature—without the deepest interest. Wonderful as it is when seen in the tank of a greenhouse, and perhaps even more impressive, in a certain sense, from its isolation, in its own home it has the charm of harmony with all that surrounds it,—with the dense mass of forest, with palm and parasite, with birds of glowing plumage, with insects of all bright and wonderful tints, and with fishes which, though hidden in the water beneath it, are not less brilliant and varied than the world of life above. I do not remember to have seen an allusion, in any description, to the beautiful device by which the whole immense surface of the adult leaf is contained within the smaller dimensions of the young one; though it is well worth notice, as one of the neatest specimens of Nature’s packing. All know the heavy scaffolding of ribs by which the colossal leaf, when full grown, is supported on its under side. In the young leaf these ribs are comparatively small, but the whole green expanse of the adult leaf is gathered in between them in regular rows of delicate puffings. At this period, the leaf is far below the surface of the water, growing slowly up from the base of the stock from which it springs. Thus drawn up, it has the form of a deep cup or vase; but in proportion as the ribs grow, their ramifications stretching in every direction, the leaf lets out one by one its little folds, to fill the ever-widening spaces; till at last, when it reaches the surface of the water, it rests horizontally above it, without a wrinkle. Mr. Agassiz caused several stocks to be dragged up from the bottom (no easy matter, on account of the spines), and found the leaf-buds just starting between the roots,—little white caps, not more than half an inch in height. There was another lily growing in this lake, which, though diminutive by the side of the Victoria, would be a giant among our water-lilies. The leaf measured more than a foot in diameter, and was slightly scolloped around the edge. There were no open flowers, but the closed buds resembled those of our common white water-lilies, and were no larger. The stalk and ribs, unlike those of the Victoria, were quite smooth, and free from thorns. After our visit to the lilies, we paddled in among the