A YEAR IN BRAZIL. 



was rather surprised, not thinking I was as much as nine 

 kilometres (five miles and a half) from Petropolis. Con- 

 tinuing to rise for about a kilometre, and passing some fine 

 rapids (Cascata do Retiro do Bulhoes, i.e. Cascade of the 

 Retreat of the Source), I came to a toll-bar. From this 

 point the road appears level, and follows the Piabanha to 

 Petropolis, winding between high rounded hills, whereon 

 the forest is more or less cleared, and the land cultivated, 

 with a few houses and gardens dotted about. At the 

 " 6 K." stone the houses become more numerous, and the 

 first bore a label, on which was painted, " Rua Westphalia." 



1 then passed a tablet inserted into the rock on the road- 

 side, stating that this road was begun by the UniSo e 

 Industria Co., April 12, 1856, under the auspices of the 

 Emperor, and in the presence of his Majesty and the 

 Empress. Another few minutes' walk, and I was once 

 more opposite the palace ; so I am at a loss to understand 

 to what locality the distances marked on the stones refer, 

 nor could any one enlighten me. The return journey was 

 very much shorter and easier than the outward, and occu- 

 pied one hour and a quarter ; so I arrived shortly after 



2 p.m., and spent the remainder of the afternoon strolling 

 about the town. 



Petropolis is a German colony, and the streets are full 

 of charming children, with plump rosy cheeks, flaxen hair, 

 and blue eyes ; while at every step you hear the language 

 of the Fatherland, and the pretty faces are such a treat, 

 after the sallow, thin, sickly looking white children that I 

 have seen for the past year. I bought a neat little walking- 

 stick, cut from a coffee-tree, and made by a certain Carlos 

 Sprangenberg, as a memento of my trip. 



As I came off here in such a hurry, I had no time, as I 

 had wished, to obtain introductions to some of the resident 



