Viewing page 43 of 106

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

[[insertion in pencil, not author's handwriting]] 2 17 8 [[/insertion]]
 [[underlined]] 39 [[/underlined]]
Scene before us, is beyond my power of description the sun was just rising, which gilded the Mountain peaks to the West of us, with the most gorgeous tints dispersing the mist that hung around the Mountains brow. and casting its soft mellow light, in the dark recesses of their cavities, the time, the day, (which was Sunday) the Scene, which was sublimely beautifull, filled me with a joyful enthusiasm, and awakened emotions in my breast, and led me in a [[strikethrough]] complete [[/strikethrough]] train of reflections, which produced a complete reaction in my whole feelings, which harmonized well with the changing Scenes of darkness to daylight, the glassy surface of the clear Water with its reflecting powers greatly contributed to the effect. The Mountain Scenery here was grand and beautiful, Surpassing anything I ever beheld before, a fit scene for the pencil and brush of an Artist. lofty mountain peaks piercing the verry clouds, as if the Air in which we lived, were too low for its Aerial Summits to exist in, and clothed to their verry tops with a dark heavy foliage, and in the Valleys and niches loom forth the lowly white Cottages of the inhabitants. We were visited during the morning by several of the natives who came along-side of our ship for the purpose of trading with us, bringing, Milk, Eggs, chickens, Fruits &c all of which they would "Yankee like" ask a price that would admit of a great reduction, and then afford a high profit to the vender- but the passengers in their over anxiety to procure fresh provisions and fruits, paid at first extravagant prices- the Brazillians are about the colour of our North American Indians. black hair & eyes and a bright intellectual countenance, but