52 A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



The owners of the Fazenda do Campo Novo (for so is 

 the place called) received us with the usual kindly welcome 

 which the hospitable Mineiros * generally extend to stray 

 travellers. And while dinner was being prepared, we 

 strolled into the farmyard and examined the milho (Indian 

 corn) stores, where two little puppies were playing about, 

 and a hen, with chickens peeping from under her wings, 

 was settling down for the night. The owner is a widow, 

 who lives here with her two sons fine lads of sixteen and 

 seventeen ; the latter manage the whole work of the farm. 

 They grow sugar-cane, maize (milho), and mandioca, and 

 have also a large garden full of orange trees, whence we 

 watched the slaughter of the chicken which was to be part 

 of our evening meal. 



This fazenda is one of the less extensive kind ; but they 

 are all about equally devoid of any of the comforts or 

 decencies of civilization. The floor throughout is the hard 

 ground ; the window-frames are supplied with shutters only, 

 which are closed at night ; the rooms have no ceilings 

 except the brown roof tiles, and these are fixed to cross 

 laths lying on the rafters ; the partition walls only reach 

 to the level of the wall-plate, on which rest the rafters of 

 the sloping roof, and thus plenty of access for light and 

 air is afforded under the eaves. 



I had a room to myself, with a most comfortable 

 mattress of the usual milho spathes. Next morning I 

 woke as it was getting light ; all was as yet still, and, open- 

 ing the shutter, I found it cold and misty. In about five 

 minutes the silence was broken by the cocks crowing, and 

 then the dogs began to bark, chickens to chirp, pigs to 

 grunt, men to talk, and all was suddenly lively again. After 

 coffee, and compelling our benevolent hosts to accept a 

 * Inhabitants of the province of Minas Geraes. 



