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 



