372 A JOURNEY IN BRAZIL. 
of its shady, picturesque walks and dells ; of its wide green 
square, with the unfinished cathedral in the centre, where 
trees and vines mantle the open doors and windows, and 
grass grows thick over the unfrequented aisles ; of its neg- 
lected cemetery, and the magnificent view it commands over 
an endless labyrinth of lakes on one side, beyond which 
glitter the yellow waters of the Amazons, while, on the other, 
the level campos is bordered by the picturesque heights of 
the distant Serra. I have never been able to explain quite to 
my own satisfaction the somewhat melancholy impression 
which this region, lovely as it unquestionably is, made upon 
me when I first saw it, an impression not wholly destroyed 
by a longer residence. Perhaps it is the general aspect of * 
incompleteness and decay, the absence of energy and enter- 
prise, making the lavish gifts of Nature of no avail. In the 
midst of a country which should be overflowing with agri- 
cultural products, neither milk, nor butter, nor cheese, 
nor vegetables, nor fruit, are to be had. You constantly 
hear people complaining of the difficulty of procuring even 
the commonest articles of domestic consumption, when, in 
fact, they ought to be produced by every land-owner. The 
agricultural districts in Brazil are rich and fertile, but there 
is no agricultural population. The nomad Indian, floating 
about in his canoe, the only home to which he has a genuine 
attachment, never striking root in the soil, has no genius 
/or cultivating the ground. As an illustration of the Indian 
character, it may not be amiss to record an incident which 
occurred yesterday when we were leaving Monte Alcgre. On 
his journey to Erere, Major Coutinho had been requested by 
an Indian and his wife, whose acquaintance he had made in 
former excursions there, to take one of their boys, a child 
about eight years of age, with him to Rio. This is very com- 
