114 A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



outside, the usual throng — and noises inseparable there- 

 from — of children, dogs, and pigs. Our table-cloth was 

 scattered over with the ochre-coloured beetles, which give 

 out phosphorescent light from a spot on each side of the 

 thorax,* while countless shining emerald spots on the 

 blackened tiles above, piercing the darkness of the dimly 

 lighted room, told of unnumbered quantities of those same 

 beetles which had there found a temporary resting-place. 



November 24. — The sogro — father of Aleixo's wife — 

 arrived at dark with his wife and four daughters to serenade 

 us with a guitar. Aleixo went out to meet them, and, 

 kissing the old people's hands, asked their blessing. The 

 old fellow is a little shrimp of a man, with a very dirty 

 exterior, and his chin is always like a stubble field ; the 

 upper lip also is chronically brown with extraneous par- 

 ticles of snuff, which he is continually shovelling up his 

 nostrils. But he is a strong Conservative, which covers a 

 multitude of sins. He is now seventy-six years old. 



I should like you to have seen our "party." We 

 assembled in the parlour — the next room to ours — likewise 

 with mud floors and walls, and opening into our host's 

 bedroom, which has no window and no external door. 

 The only furniture in the parlour is a wooden-framed bed- 

 stead and a bench. The former has an ox-hide nailed on 

 it, on which the mattress is placed, which is the usual 

 thing — a cotton case filled with milho spathes. For the 

 entertainment, the ox-hide stood revealed, and looked like 

 a big drum-skin, with an occasional patch of hair still 

 adhering. On this bedstead, with her back against the 

 wall, sat the old woman, resting her chin on her knees. 

 In front of her were the three damsels, her daughters, 

 who were to perform. Roberts and I were on the bench, 



* Pyrofhorus nodilucus, Elateridce (skipjacks). 



