After one or two trials, we preferred to take the risk of getting wet to that of being suffocated by the heat, and would not allow them to be lowered. In fact, after repeated wettings, their stench became unendurable, and we had them removed entirely, much to the astonishment of Pedro, who really seemed to relish the smell of putrescent hides! In the first class bongos, which have board roofs, with close joints, this annoyance is obviated. In these the traveller also finds a refuge on the top of the _chopa_, from the discomforts of the interior. We sat up late, watching the men, who gathered in a group near the bow of the boat, each with a cigar in his mouth, a handkerchief bound round his head, and a blanket thrown over his shoulders. There they sat for hours, keeping up conversation in a low tone, and with every appearance of great earnestness. Finally, however, they broke off one by one, and stretched themselves each on his own hard bench. Ben, too, who had been with Fremont across the continent, had travelled all over Mexico, and was consequently a philosopher after his way, took to the only vacant bench, while Pedro coiled himself in a heap on the _pineta_. The night was threatening, no stars were visible, and we could only discern the dark water sweeping past us, by the light of the “fire-fly lamps.” An alligator occasionally plunged heavily in the stream, but excepting the water rippling under the bow, all else was silent. It was past midnight when the drops of an approaching shower warned us to seek the shelter of the _chopa_. We found our quarters sufficiently narrow, and the trunks, spite of ponchos and blankets, portentously hard. Yet, thanks to former experiences, I was soon asleep, and slumbered soundly until morning. A few straggling mosquitos, however, had disturbed my companions, who were up long before me, unrefreshed and complaining. Although it was hardly sunrise, we had been moving for two or three hours, and were past the Tauro mouth of the San Juan, and approaching the point of divergence of the Colorado. And although the banks were little if any higher than before, yet the feathery palms, of which I have spoken, were interspersed with other varieties of trees, some of which were of large size, and draped all over with vines, that hung in rich festoons over the water. Birds of varied plumage glanced in and out of the forest, and cranes and other water-fowl paced soberly along the sand bars, or flew lazily up the stream as we approached. Occasionally a pair of green macaws,—the macaw is never seen except in couples,—fluttered slowly over our heads, almost deafening us with their discordant notes. The air was cool and fresh, reminding me of a morning in June at home, and I experienced a degree of exhilaration in performing my morning ablutions which completely put to flight all my previously conceived notions of tropical lassitude. Mists lurked here and there in the bends of the river, and in shadowy nooks, but they