A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



her sons — another Antonio — was ill in bed. I had to go 

 and see him for a short time, and then returned and sat 

 with the good old lady, a sister-in-law, daughters and 

 granddaughters, in silence, while she groaned. At length 

 I made an excuse of looking after the horses, and went out. 

 At eight we had a plentiful Brazilian breakfast ; the table 

 was spread three times, and about twenty sat down each 

 time, all men. At nine there was a little excitement, and 

 every one said, " It's coming." I wondered what. It 

 turned out to be the coffin, slung on a long pole, carried by 

 two men. The lid was hinged so as to open like a trip- 

 tych ; the outside was covered with black cloth, trimmed 

 with gilt braid, and the inside white, with the same braid 

 trimming. It was then taken to the inner rooms, and there 

 was inore waiting. English funerals are bad enough, as 

 far as delays go, so I suppose it was only to be expected 

 the Brazilians would be still more dilatory. 



About ten, the padre from Sao Amaro, who was the 

 major's confessor, arrived. He shook hands with the sons, 

 with me, and with others, and then, instead of going in to 

 comfort the mourners, began to cut up tobacco and make 

 a cigarette. The bier was next prepared, consisting of 

 tvvo long poles, with five cross pieces lashed together with 

 ropes. 



At last, about 10.45, we started. The two daughters 

 and some grandchildren accompanied the coffin to the 

 hall, quite quiet, but weeping much. The coffin was 

 placed on and lashed to the bier, and covered with a 

 yellow and red damask pall, over which was thrown a red 

 and white tablecloth ; then four niggers, taking the ends 

 of the poles on their shoulders, trudged off. There were 

 about five and twenty slaves and servants belonging to the 

 estate who went on foot, and took it in turns to bear the 



