RIO DE JANEIRO, IN THE LAND OF LURE 



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weights on their shoulders, the former 

 being more in evidence. 



The custom among the working classes 

 of bearing burdens on the head is a sur- 

 vival of slavery days. Everything is car- 

 ried in this fashion, from a tin pan to a 

 piano. It takes four men to carry a 

 piano ; but one man alone balances the 

 gigantic bread-basket, weighing close to 

 ninety pounds, toiling with it up the steep 

 paths, one hand steadying the basket, the 

 other grasping a camp-stool. I thought 

 the camp-stool was for the man to rest 

 on ; but no ! it is for the Honorable 

 Bread-basket ! 



There are more than fifteen hundred 

 of these bread men, each exhibiting the 

 number of his license on the basket or 

 attached to the formidable leather purse, 

 resembling a woman's ordinary hand- 

 bag, which the Rio street vender invaria- 

 bly wears on his hip, suspended from his 

 shoulder by a long strap. Other charac- 

 teristic features are the tamancos, or 

 heelless wooden slippers, whose rhyth- 

 mic "clap-clap" is heard in every part of 

 the city, and the circular wad of cloth, 

 once white, worn on the head as a cush- 

 ion for the burden. 



Every vender has his particular call. 

 The tin-pan merchant thumps his wares 

 with a big spoon ; the Syrian who sells 

 Ceara lace beats his basket with his yard- 

 stick ; the strange minor wail of the pea- 

 nut-seller takes you back to the Orient. 

 There is, in fact, quite an Oriental touch 

 to the city. 



THE SACRED OX OF INDIA IS Rio's BEAST OE 

 BURDEN 



When I was a child in California, the 

 Chinese coolie, who sold us vegetables 

 and gave me "China lilies" and dried 

 litchi "nuts," came to the kitchen door 

 every morning carrying six circular bas- 

 kets suspended in groups of three on the 

 ends of a pole slung across his shoulders. 

 In just this manner the vegetable and 

 chicken sellers of Rio carry their wares. 

 It is, I believe, a survival among those 

 customs which reached Portugal through 

 her Far Eastern colonies. 



A more tangible evidence of this in- 

 fluence is seen in the fawn or cream- 

 colored zebu, sacred ox of India, used as 

 a beast of burden on the hills of the 



Brazilian capital. Here, as in Portugal, 

 oxen are yoked by the shoulders instead 

 of by the horns, as in Spanish lands. 



On the level streets of the city, min- 

 gling with countless head-bearers, are 

 carters trudging beside their mule teams, 

 men trundling hand-trucks, and cake- 

 sellers with wares in boxes on wheels. 

 These last named are popular, as the 

 Brazilians are very fond of sweets. A 

 unique sight is a cart with two huge 

 wheels, carrying granite blocks or great 

 logs suspended by chains from the axle. 



HISTORIC INTEREST IS AT HAND 



"Yes, Rio has many picturesque types," 

 an American resident admitted, "but it is 

 so utterly devoid of historic interest." 



To this I cannot agree. History is 

 there for those who search. 



The first great name that flares up is 

 that of Pedro Alvares Cabral, the in- 

 trepid Portuguese navigator, who in 1500, 

 started out to follow the course of the 

 Phoenicians around Africa, as described 

 by Herodotus, and drifted West to Brazil 

 instead. 



In the Portuguese library in Rio hangs 

 a painting depicting that memorable 

 Easter Sunday when Cabral first sighted 

 the shores of a new country, dimly visible 

 on the far horizon. He leans on the cara- 

 vel's rail peering out over the waters — a 

 tall, swarthy, bearded man, clad in the 

 doublet, knee-breeches, and long hose of 

 the period. Behind him stand two sailors, 

 on whose faces joy and awe are mingled. 

 It was in a little port south of Bahia that 

 the thirteen ships of the fleet cast anchor 

 and on its shore the first mass in Brazil 

 was celebrated. 



In the National Library I saw the 

 original letter sent to the King of Portu- 

 gal by a certain Pedro Yaz de Caminha, 

 announcing Cabral's discovery. Where 

 Gloria Park meets the splendid Beira 

 Mar Drive, skirting the bay, stands the 

 imposing monument erected to the mem- 

 ory of Cabral three centuries after the 

 discovery. In the cathedral, in a vault 

 to the right of the high altar, are the 

 remains of the great navigator, brought 

 from Portugal in 1903 and here rever- 

 ently interred. Just so the remains of 

 Christopher Columbus were long ago 



