The gathering of Indians at Pararuma again afforded a fascinating chance for civilized men to study the development of our intellectual faculties in savages. It is hard to recognize in this infancy of society, in this gathering of dull, silent, impassive Indians, the primitive origins of our species. We do not see here a human nature that is sweet and naive as described by our poets. We would like to persuade ourselves that these Indians, squatting by the fire, or sitting on huge turtle shells, their bodies covered in mud and grease, fixing their eyes stupidly for hours on the drink they are preparing, belong to a degenerate race rather than being a primitive type of our own species that, having been dispersed for ages in jungles, have fallen back into barbarism

The location of the town of Santa Cruz is similar to La °, the busiest port in the province of Caracas. The heat is excessive in both places, but Santa Cruz is sadder. On a deserted sandy beach, houses of a dazzling white with flat roofs and windows without panes lie close to a rocky cliff stripped of vegetation. A fine stone quay and public walk planted with poplars are the only attraction in that monotonous picture. From Santa Cruz the peak seems far less picturesque than it does from the port of Orotava. There a smiling and richly cultivated plain contrasts with the wild appearance of the volcano. From the groves of palm and banana trees on the shore to the region of strawberry trees, laurels and pine the volcanic rock is covered with luxuriant vegetation. It is easy to see why the inhabitants of the beautiful climates of Greece and Italy thought they had discovered one of the Fortunate Isles on the western part of Tenerife. The eastern Santa Cruz side is everywhere marked with sterility.

We did not leave the Pericantral farm until dark. We spent a very uncomfortable night in the narrow, overloaded pirogue. At three in the morning we found ourselves at the mouth of the Manzanares river. As the sun rose we saw the zamuro vultures (Vultur aura) perched in flocks of forty and fifty in the coconut palms. To sleep, these birds line up together on branches like fowl, and are so lazy that they go to sleep ages before sunset and do not wake up until the sun is up. It seems as if the trees with pinnate leaves share this laziness with the birds. The mimosas and tamarinds close their leaves when the sky is clear some twenty-five to thirty-five minutes before sunset, and in the morning do not open them again until the sun is high up.