210 A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



I thought of the progress (?) of thought, and what now 

 leads men to revolutionize, and how possibly there may 

 be a mild revolution in Brazil on the death of the present 

 Emperor (long may he reign, as he is the one man who 

 keeps affairs at all in order), picturing to myself the pos- 

 sible disintegration of the empire into a confederation of 

 provinces such as obtains in the United States, etc., etc. 



We are now drawing near the end of our stay here, and 

 I remember that I have never described the view from our 

 office windows. It is situate in the centre of the great 

 coffee warehouses, and every pound of coffee that leaves 

 Rio passes in waggons along the tramway past our door 

 to the docks, therefore the traffic is considerable. Our 

 look-out is, indeed, different from anything that thousands 

 of Englishmen in the old country see from the windows 

 of their offices or warehouses, where they spend the day, 

 often alas ! too often without any view whatever. This 

 office is a fine large room on the first floor, facing south, 

 but always cool ; whence, passing along a passage to the 

 back of the house, which is on the wharf by the bay, we 

 gain a magnificent view, bounded by the Organ Mountains. 

 The front windows of the office look out on a triangular 

 space, paved throughout, which from dawn till 3 p.m. is 

 dotted over by covered stalls, where the men employed 

 in shifting the coffee from the various warehouses repair 

 to take their meals. On the opposite side of the triangular 

 space are some dozen houses, shops, and cafes, one being 

 an English restaurant for sailors ; of one, two, or three 

 stories, only two being of the same height ; they are 

 painted red, blue, yellow, or brown, or else the face is 

 covered with glazed tiles in patterns. Some of the houses 

 have balconies, wherein occasionally fair damsels, or at 

 least damsels fair by courtesy for some of them are black 



