A MORNING IN THE TROPICS.
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��quainted with his excellency. Emerging at the western gate, we come upon a string of mules guided by a mulatto, who is continually shouting — not the kind words suggested by Mr. Bergh — but "ho! devil," "go along, fool," and other expressions equally inelegant. In view, however, of the delicious edibles with which they keep the mai-ket supplied, their mode of driving is readily excused. The panniers — one upon each side of the animal — are filled with oranges, plan- tains, araca, pinha, and, perchance, boxes of guava jelly, one of the greatest delicacies of the country. But only one, for the list is long and includes Mother Benta's cakes, doce de araca, egg- threads, sighs, angels' hair, and baba de moca (the latter could be translated, but it does not sound as well in English) and — I came near forgetting it — "heaven- ly bacon," a light pudding composed of almond-paste, eggs, sugar, butter and flour. These muleteers are a very pecu- liar sort of people. Living, as they do. in isolated places among the mountains or on the bank of some river, they are imbued with strange notions. Their ev- eryday affairs are arranged in strict ac- cordance with the superstitions cherished, while all calamities are attributed to some mysterious agency. Each hamlet has its traditions and legends, the truth of which they never question, and their weird tales of ancient people and places strikingly illustrate the extravagances of which the ignorant mind is capable. The monotony of their lives is only va- ried by the weekly or monthly visits to town, where they remain all day, drink- ing wine and telling stories — in every sense of the word — at the corner grocery. The journey home through dark and almost trackless forests would be dreary enough were it not for the vampire bats, whose persistent efforts to taste mule blood require constant activity on the part of the drivers.
Some of the finest residences in Per- nambuco grace the environs of Boa Vista, homes of the merchant princes and physicians of good repute, the dia- mond miner, and, possibly, a former slave dealer. Their day is begun, as it should be, luxuriously. At six we shall
��find them on the verandah in gown and slippers quietly sipping a cup of black coffee as they read the morning news. Now, joined by wife and children, they saunter through the well-kept grounds, where nature, in all her loveliness, spreads out before them in that wild abandon so characteristic of tropical scenery. Myriads of happy songsters merrily flit from branch to branch, send- ing the dew in crystal showers to startle the modest chameleon and cause his coat to turn from its roseate hue to emerald green. Screaming paroquets fly about in great confusion at the near approach of the tyrant blue macaw, and the timid musk monkey pauses in his morning meal to view with ill-concealed surprise the disturbers of his peace. Down in th« glade, where the brook in graceful curves its course pursues, the cattle now their fast are breaking. At times they stop to chew the returning quid, and gaze, se- date and sober, at the white swans gayly sporting on the limpid stream. At every turn prolific nature exhibits some new and pleasing charm, some quiet, peace- ful scene to rest the eye and calm the soul. Can we wonder then that with day thus happily begun the man of physic cures his patient by his cheerful manner? Is it strange that politeness and good feeling enter even the musty counting-house, when almost from God's own lips the lesson of "peace on earth, good will toward men" is daily learned? The water carriers are by no means "early birds," but by seven o'clock we shall see them on their way to the foun- tain, where a little old man in a sentry- box receives the required penny a jar. Much wrangling — principally in the in- comprehensible jargon of the African tongue — occurs inside the railing, and many hands are raised in anger at real or fancied insults, but no one is harmed, which desirable state of circumstances is due to the participants not possessing courage according to their strength. Time is not money with the water vend- ers, and they waste many precious mo- ments — not to say hours — with a noncha- lance that is truly refreshing. In the street they adopt a rapid, swinging gate, and cry in a drawling voice : "Aqua de
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