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IN July 1877 I first landed in British Guiana, and on Christmas Day, 1879, the intermediate two and a half years having been spent, in about equal proportion, in wandering among the Indians and in the chief town of the colony, I left the country, as I then thought, for ever. During the following two years, spent in England, when ever there came a perfectly fine day, whether in spring, summer, autumn, or in winter, and whenever I was able to spend those too rare opportunities of perfect life in wander ing over down-country, or through English lanes and woods, or by that ever pleasant river which runs past Oxford town, then I felt that the unspeakable pleasure of such a day surpassed by far all that the days, and all that the years, however pleasant, which a man may spend in the tropics can afford. But when, very much more often, gloomy days had to be endured, then my thoughts invariably turned westward, and I longed to be once more among the deep shadows and broken lights of the gigantic tropical forests, on the sunlit waters of the broad rivers, or on the rolling.
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