A cloudless blue sky
overhead. The gorgeous air-flowers, delicate and fragrant. Trees
covered with a drapery of orchidaceae. The loveliest of flowers and
shrubs. Birds of rainbow beauty, painted by the hand of God, as only
He can. Flamingoes, parrots, humming-birds, butterflies of every size
and hue. Arborescent ferns; cacti, thirty feet high, like huge
candelabra. Creeping plants growing a hundred feet, and then passing
from the top of one ever-vernal tree to another, forming a canopy for
one from the sun's rays. Chattering monkeys. Deer, with more
beautiful eyes than ever woman had since Eve fell. The balmy air
wafting incense from the burning bush; and last, but oh, not least,
the joy in seeing the degraded aborigine learning to love the "Light
of the World"! Yes, there are delights; but "life is real, life is
earnest," and a meal of algarroba beans (the husks of the prodigal
son of Luke XV.) is not any more tempting if eaten under the shade of
a waving palm of surpassing beauty.
The mission station previously referred to lies one hundred miles in
from the river bank, three hundred miles north of Asuncion, among the
Lengua Indians. As far as I am aware, no Paraguayan has ever visited
there. The missionaries wish their influence to be the only one in
training the Indian mind. The village bears the strange name of
Waikthlatemialwa (The Place Where the Toads Arrived). At the
invitation of the missionaries, I was privileged to go there and see
their work.
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