68 A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



volence, and whose whole life is a constant self-sacrifice for 

 the good of others, looked on without a word of reproof, 

 while the poor armadillo was vainly endeavouring to escape 

 from the dogs, whose jowls were reeking with his life's 

 blood. Perhaps the padre thought it was a fitting re- 

 tribution on one who had violated the quiet resting-places 

 of good Christians. 



Just after a knife, skilfully driven home, had deprived 

 the poor armadillo of the little life that yet remained, the 

 six o'clock bell sounded, our priest took off his hat, and all 

 surrounding him did the same, while his lips moved, utter- 

 ing inaudibly the prayers appointed by the Roman Church 

 for that hour. 



After dinner the padre came to invite us over to his 

 house, and we went all round his garden in the little light 

 that remained before sunset. The garden is large and full 

 of coffee, sugar-cane, castor-oil, orange trees, yams, bananas, 

 mandioca, and medicinal herbs. He has a nursery of plants, 

 with gifts from which he constantly helps the poorer 

 members of his flock to stock their gardens, free of expense. 

 There are many little irrigating canals supplied from a 

 stream running through his garden, and also a fine spring 

 conducted through a good bath, which, wonderful to relate, 

 he makes use of every day. He gave us coffee, white wine, 

 and " mamath," which is a kind of fermented sponge cake, 

 besides other delicacies. We talked of the country and 

 neighbourhood, and also of his parish, which is very ex- 

 tensive, some villages being four leagues off (sixteen miles). 

 The total population of the " povoada," or parish, is about 

 three thousand. He spoke of the extreme beauty of the 

 valley of the Rio Sao Francisco, into which the Rio Para 

 empties itself, about seven leagues below Pitanguy. The 

 valley of the Sao Francisco is very wide, in some parts 



