180 A JOURNEY IN BRAZIL. 



my young friend R and I waltzed for them, to their 



great delight. It seemed to me like a strange dream. 

 The bright fire danced with us, flickering in under the 

 porch, fitfully lighting its picturesque interior and the 

 group of wondering Indians around us, who encouraged 

 us every now and then with a &quot; Muito bonito, mia branca, 

 muito bonito&quot; (Very pretty, my white, very pretty). Our 

 ball kept up very late, and after I had gone to my ham 

 mock I still heard, between waking and sleeping, the plain 

 tive chords of the guitar, mingling with the melancholy 

 note of a kind of whippoorwill, who sings in the woods all 

 night. This morning the forest is noisy with the howling 

 monkeys. They sound very near and very numerous ; but 

 we are told that they are deep in the forest, and would 

 disappear at the slightest approach. 



September 1st. Yesterday morning we bade our friendly 

 hosts good-by, leaving their pretty picturesque home with 

 real regret. The night before we left, they got together 

 some of their neighbors in our honor, and renewed the 

 ball of the previous evening. Like things of the same 

 kind in other classes, the second occasion, got up with a 

 little more preparation than the first, which was wholly 

 impromptu, was neither so gay nor so pretty. Frequent 

 potations of cacha^a made the guests rather noisy, and 

 their dajicing, under this influence, became far more ani 

 mated, and by no means so serious and dignified as the 

 evening before. One thing which occurred early in the 

 entertainment, however, was interesting, as showing some 

 thing of their religious observances. In the morning Es- 

 peranga s mother, a hideous old Indian woman, had come 

 into my room to make me a visit. Before leaving, I was 

 rather surprised to see her kneel down by a little trunk 



