With all these marvellous creations of the vegetable world around us, we soon, however, found that travelling through the great forest wilderness was both fatiguing and difficult. There was not 100 yards of level ground, and the native track, what little there was of it, led over steep precipitous ridges, from 200 to 400 feet in height, which were constantly ascending and descending in a way which rendered our progress not only slow, but difficult and tedious. The steep ascents, up which we had to drag our animals at every turn, were as slippery as glass with the dank humidity of the surrounding vegetation, and were encumbered with the gnarled roots of trees in every direction, while the descents were in many places so precipitous that it was impossible for us to lead our horses without the risk of them rolling over on us, so we were compelled to let them go their own way down, when they would, owing to the slippery nature of the soil, slide down on their haunches and never stop until they were pulled up by a boggy creek below. These creeks, filled with thick, black mud, impeded our progress at every descent, and struck terror into our animals, so that we would often have to flog them across, when their struggles to climb the slippery ascents on the opposite side fatigued them fearfully. It was not as if we had only to encounter these difficulties now and again, but they presented themselves in the most aggravated forms at every few hundred yards of our journey, from morning until night, and for day after day. Thus, amid solitude and shade, we pursued our onward way, now plunging into the deep and gloomy chasms of the mountains, and anon rising to the opposite ascent, till the distant openings in the forest, restoring the welcome sunlight, revealed mountain and valley yet to be traversed.