countries, would be estimated as large; but I
had conceived no expectation of beholding any
so immense as the River Plate, or even as the
Uruguay, or the Parana. I likewise expected
to view a vast extent of plains proceeding
from along the banks of La Plata further
than eye could reach—but not an expanse so
vast and characteristic as the Pampas. So of
the mountains running in the interior of the
province, I had no adequate conception of the
Sierra.

As an old traveller, I always feel more
comfortable, if, before taking a journey into
any unexplored region, I ascertain as much as
possible of its geography. Possessed of such
information, some obstacles have been cleared
away from any line of route I may choose;
and I certainly feel the safer and more
confidence as I proceed through the unknown
country. Let me, therefore, before taking
you to the Sierra, or beyond, just lead you by
the hand, and proceed at a gentle pace to take
a bird's eye view of La Plata.

Look first on La Plata as much, as you
can see of its breadth and its length, and
whatever your notion of it may be, I must
confess that the more I behold in reality, or
in memory, or in description, of this magnificent
river, its vastness impresses me more
and more with that inexpressible feeling
which I think no other object in nature, not
even the wildest grandeur of the highest
mountains, so powerfully inspires one with,
after the first view, as the sublime expanse of
waters, though peacefully slumbering in their
might, commanding the majesty of silence
around. In breadth, La Plata equals that of
the Amazons, and is navigable by vessels of
considerable tonnage, even to the distance of
four hundred leagues from its mouth. Of its
vastness the European traveller will be able
to form some idea from the fact, that one of
the many tributary rivers flowing into La
Plata, the Uruguay, is itself in magnitude
one that surpasses the Rhine or the Elbe.
In speaking of the Uruguay, it must not be
forgotten that at its mouth its breadth is so
great that the eye cannot from any point take
in both its banks at one view—not even from
the centre of the river; and that proceeding
two hundred leagues higher up, it requires
an hour, to cross it.

In another tributary of La Plata, the
Parana, itself an immense river, is the great
Cataract (situated in the twenty-fourth degree
of latitude, not far from the city of Guayra),
which, over the extent of twelve leagues, hurls
itself with ever-increasing rapidity and
impetuosity over and amongst numberless rocks of
very singular and startling forms. Of all the
tributary rivers, the largest by far, it is
asserted, is the Parana; hence the natural
designation of La Plata by the natives as
the Parana, comprising all the aggregate
rivers of La Plata and its tributaries. The
Spanish designation, however, appears for
geographical purposes the more suitable for
adoption. The Parana— regarding it as a
separate, though a tributary river—springs from
the environs of Villa del Carmen, to the
north of Rio de Janeiro, and in its course flowing
through a mountainous country, augments
itself immensely, receiving, in its downward
progress to the vast plains, numerous other
streams. It likewise there receives the
Paraguay, which originating in a plain in the
north, called Campos-Paresis, that during the
rainy season forms the Lake of Xarayes, is
greatly augmented before it disembogues
itself into the Parana, by receiving the
Pilcomayo—itself a large river—which, having
its source near Potosi, is the channel of all
the inland navigation from the mines. The
Vermeigo and the Salado also flow into La
Plata from the side of the Andes, and the
Uruguay from the side of Brazil.

Bearing in mind, as far as you can, this
assemblage of magnificent rivers, and the
thousand minor streams perpetually rolling
down the divers mountains of the far-extending
Sierra, picture an apparently interminable
expanse of pampas, or plains not verdant,
nor prairie-like in appearance, whose scarcely
undulating surface forma a line of horizon
scarcely broken, save by abrupt and almost
perpendicularly rising mountains of
extraordinary form and aspect, and numberless low
hills among the intermediate valleys,
intersected by innumerable rivers and streams,
and covered by multitudes of wild cattle,—and
you will then have a very inadequate idea of
the vastness, the wildness, the magnificence,
and the dreary and awe-inspiring peculiarities
of those regions, thus possessed of so many of
the grandest elements of picturesque beauty
in its more savage aspects.

The apparently interminable Pampas of
Buenos Ayres are at a distance of one
hundred leagues (three hundred English
miles) south from the town of Buenos Ayres,
almost equally divided by the remarkable
chain of mountains, termed the Sierra, which
runs from east to west. Taking the south
frontier of the Pampas to be the river
Colorado, as it is usually considered, but without
sufficient reason, we should find that the
distance thence to the Sierra is little more
than one hundred leagues.

Before I proceeded to the Sierra, I had
frequently heard and laughed at one of those
trivial little superstitions which the gossips
of every country delight in circulating. It
is believed that, immediately on the arrival of
every stranger who never before has seen the
Sierra, it will infallibly rain. Let the learned
in meteorology discuss this question if they
please; I can, at least, throw in one fact,
namely, that for many weeks prior to my
arrival at the Sierra, the weather had been
continuously dry. I approached the Sierra
in the afternoon when it was decidedly fine
and dry, as the glass would indicate;
nevertheless, very soon after I had reached the
Sierra, the heavens became covered with