174 A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



at 5 or 5.30, having been home for breakfast about mid- 

 day ; invariably seeing the one-eyed Francisco sitting 

 on his doorstep, eternally nursing one of his half-dozen 

 cats or kittens, and occasionally talking to one or more 

 neighbours ; generally passing Padre Pinto on his balcony, 

 who always asks me to go in and have coffee, which I 

 am compelled to do periodically, so as not to affront 

 the poor old man, and his one topic of conversation is the 

 " criagao de porcos," or breeding of pigs ; continually 

 meeting the same familiar faces, making the same ever- 

 lasting bows, and saying the same words. Then, on 

 Sunday I am expected every week to make a round of 

 visits, and John Baptist feels affronted if I don't go there, 

 generally to dinner, which, being at 3 p.m., spoils my 

 appetite for my own dinner at 6.30, and I cannot get 

 anything to eat later in the evening. In the morning the 

 cold, with a penetrating mist, is so great I don't care to 

 go out early, even if I have the energy, and the sun setting 

 shortly after we leave the office, one cannot walk then ; 

 besides which, weary with the daily work, one is glad to 

 rest till dinner is ready, and the evening is spent either 

 in writing, reading, or talking with some of the various 

 members of the staff, or all of them, who drop in. Occa- 

 sionally we vary the monotony with some pleasing game, 

 using coffee berries or maize for counters. Such a life is 

 little more than vegetating. 



Another reason for wishing to get away is the cold, 

 early and late. The thermometer for some five or six 

 consecutive nights has been below freezing point, some- 

 times five or six degrees. To-day, though cloudless sun- 

 shine, there were cold southerly breezes, and every one was 

 going about in heavy greatcoats, with their heads buried 

 in their collars. They wondered at me, a northerner, for 



