on a tall bay horse high in bone, with a brace of pistols buckled round him, in a huge straw hat, and a short jacket; I on a little grey horse, my boat-cloak over my saddle; otherwise dressed as usual, with a straw riding hat, and dark grey habit; and our attendant Antonio, the merriest of negroes, on a mule, with Mr. Dampier's portmanteau behind, and my bag before him.--We proceeded by the upper part of the town, and along the well-trodden road to San Cristovaŏ, and after crossing the little hill to the left of the palace, entered on a country quite new to me. From the western side of the entrance to Rio Janeiro, a high mountainous ridge extends close to the sea, as far as the Bay of Angra dos Reyes, formed by Ilha Grande and Marambaya. On the northern side of this ridge there is a plain, here and there varied by low hills, extending quite to the most inland part of Rio de Janeiro, and reaching in a winding direction to the bay of Angra dos Reyes: itself having probably at no very remote period been covered with water, connecting these two bays, and insulating the mountains above mentioned. Along this plain our road lay between grand scenery on the one hand, and soft and beautiful landscape on the other; but to-night all was dark and louring; the tops of the mountains were wrapped in mists, that rushed impetuously down their sides, or through their clefts, and every now and then a hollow sound of wind came from out of them, though the blast did not quite reach us. Under this sort of cloud we passed the picturesque Pedragulha, and the little port of Benefica, formed by a creek of the Rio. By the time we reached Praya Pequena, where a good deal of produce is embarked for the city, the clouds had closed dully in, and the grand mountain mists had lost their character. Still we went on, leaving the bay entirely: and first we passed the Venda Grande, where every necessary for horse or man travelling, is to be sold; then the Capon do Bispo, a pretty village, which the rain clouds made me long to stop at; and then the stone bridge of Rio de Ferreira, where the rain at length began to fall in large cold drops; then tremendous gusts of wind came out of the mountain gaps, and long before we reached the Casca d'ouro, the protection of cloaks and umbrellas had ceased to avail. There we might have stopped; but having been told that the Venda of Campinha was the best resting-place, we resolved to proceed, and with some pains prevailed on my horse to go on: we reached the venda. But if it be delightful, after a long wet ride in a dark and boisterous night, to arrive at a place of rest, it is at least as wretched to be turned from the door where you hope to find shelter, with dripping clothes and shivering limbs; yet such was our fate. There was nothing at the venda to eat, no place for us, none for our horses, and so we set out again to brave the pitiless storm; a few yards, however, brought us to a low cottage on the road side, and there we knocked.