CAPTIVE CONDORS.
On my return from a delightful walk, I found much-desired letters from home awaiting me, and along with them the less welcome information that the departure of the Triumph was delayed for several weeks. Renouncing with regret the agreeable prospect of a voyage in company with Captain Markham, I at once wrote to secure a passage in the German steamer Rhamses, announced to leave Valparaiso on May 28.
Among other objects of interest at this place, I was struck by the proceedings of two captive condors, who, with clipped wings, roamed about the establishment, and seemed to have no desire to recover the liberty which they had lost as young birds. One of them was especially pertinacious in keeping to the side of the court near to the dining-room and kitchen, always on the look-out for scraps of meat and refuse. Contrary to my expectation, the colour of both birds, which were females, was a nearly uniform brown, with only a few white feathers beneath. They were larger than any eagles, but scarcely exceeded one or two of the largest lämmergeier of the Alps that I have seen in confinement.
On the morning of May 19 I with much regret took my departure from the baths, and found myself in company with an elderly gentleman and his pretty and agreeable daughter, who also desired to return to Santiago. Starting some two hours earlier than was at all necessary, we had spare time, which I employed in looking for plants at Rio Claro and about the Gualtro station; but at this season very little remained to interest the botanist. We reached the capital about five p.m., and, as the days were now short, the sun was setting as I went in an open carriage along the broad Alameda, which runs nearly due east. The better to enjoy the finest sunset which I had yet seen in America, I was sitting facing westward, with my back to the horses, when an unusual glow of bright light on the adjoining houses caused me to turn my head. Never shall I forget the extraordinary spectacle that met my eyes. I am well used to brilliant sunsets, for, so far as I know, they are nowhere in the world so frequent as in the part of north-eastern Italy approaching the foot of the Alps, with which I am familiar. But the scene on this evening was beyond all previous experience or imagination. The great range of the Cordillera that rises above the town, mostly covered with fresh snow, seemed ablaze in a glory of red flame of indescribable intensity, and the whole city was for some minutes transfigured in the splendour of the illumination.
SUNSET ILLUMINATION.
The subject of sunset illumination has been much discussed of late in connection with the supposed effects of the great eruption of Krakatoa, and I confess to a suspicion that these have been considerably overrated. That the presence of finely comminuted particles in the higher region of the atmosphere is one of the chief causes that determine the colour of the sky, may be freely conceded by those who doubt whether a single volcanic eruption sufficed to alter the conditions over the larger part of the earth’s surface. It is certain that some of the districts ordinarily noted for sunsets of extraordinary brilliancy are remote from active volcanoes. So far as South America is concerned, it may, on the other hand, be remarked that if volcanic action be an efficient cause, it is present at many points of the continent as well as in Central America, while brilliant sunsets are, so far as I know, of rare occurrence except in Chili.