12 A JOURNEY IN BRAZIL. 



.X f 



why these men will wait motionless for hours, and think 

 themselves repaid (as I heard one of them declare) if they 

 only hear the cry of the dogs and know they have roused 

 the game, even if there be no other result. However, in 

 this instance, we had plenty of other booty. The Anta lost, 

 the hunters, who had carefully avoided firing hitherto, lest 

 the sounds of their guns should give him warning, now 

 turned their attention to lesser game, and we rode home 

 in the afternoon rich in spoils, though without a Tapir. 



The next day was that of our departure. Before leav 

 ing, we rode with Mr. Lage through his plantation, that 

 we might understand something of the-jprocess of coffee^ 

 Culture in this country. I am not sure that, in giving 

 an account of this model fazenda, we give a just idea 

 of fazendas in general, r Its owner carries the same large 

 and comprehensive spirit, the same energy and force of will, 

 into all his undertakings, and has introduced extensive 

 reforms on his plantations.j The Fazenda da Fortaleza 

 de Santa Anna lies at the foot of the Serra da Babylonia. 

 The house itself, as I have already said, makes a part of a 

 succession of low white buildings, enclosing an oblong 

 square divided into neat lots, destined for the drying of 

 coffee. This drying of the coffee in the immediate vicinity 

 of -the house, though it seems a very general custom, must 

 be an uncomfortable one ; for the drying-lots are laid down 

 in a dazzling white cement, from the glare of which, in this 

 hot climate, the eye turns wearily away, longing for a green 

 spot on which to rest. Just behind the house on the slope 

 of the hill is the orangery. I am never tired of these 

 golden orchards, and this was one of especial beauty. 

 The small, deep-colored tangerines, sometimes twenty or 

 thirty in one cluster, the large, choice orange, &quot; Laranja 



