162 A JOURNEY IN BRAZIL. 
of tall, slender tree-trunks, crossing each other at right 
angles. Between these are woven long palm-leaves, mak- 
ing an admirable thatch, or sometimes the walls are filled 
in with mud. The roof overhangs, covering the wide, 
open porch, which extends the length of one side of the 
house, and is as deep as a good-sized room ; it is usually left 
open on the sides as well as in front. Within, the rest 
of the house is divided off into one or more chambers, 
according to its size. I have not penetrated into these, 
but can bear testimony to the usual cleanliness and order 
of the outer room. The hard mud-floor is neatly swept, 
there is no litter about, and, except for the mosquitoes, 
I should think it no hardship to sling my hammock for 
the night under the thatched roof of one of these prim- 
itive veranda-like apartments. There is one element 
of dirt common in the houses of our own poor which is ab- 
sent here. Instead of the mass of old musty bedding, a 
nest for vermin, the Indians have their cool hammocks, 
slung from side to side of the room. One feature 
in their mode of building deserves to be mentioned. 
Owing to the submerged state of the ground on which 
they live, the Indians often raise their houses on piles 
sunk in the water. Here we have the old lacustrine 
buildings, so much discussed of late years, reproduced 
for us. One even sees sometimes a little garden lifted 
in this way above the water. 
But to return to our walk. One of the Indians invited 
us to continue our ramble to his house, which he said was 
/ 
not far beyond, in the forest. We readily complied, for 
the path he pointed out to us looked tempting in the 
extreme, leading into the depth of the wood. Under 
his guidance we continued for some distance, every now 
