372 



A JOURNEY IN BRAZIL. 



of its shady, picturesque walks and dells ; of its wide green 

 square, with the unfinished cathedral in the centre, where 

 trees and vines mantle the open doors and windows, and 

 grass grows thick over the unfrequented aisles ; of its neg- 

 lected cemetery, and the magnificent view it commands over 

 an endless labyrinth of lakes on one side, beyond which 

 glitter the yellow waters of the Amazons, while, on the other, 

 the level campos is bordered by the picturesque heights of 

 the distant Serra. I have never been able to explain quite to 

 my own satisfaction the somewhat melancholy impression 

 ^vhich this region, lovely as it unquestionably is, made upon 

 me when I first saw it, — an impression not wholly destroyed 

 by a longer residence. Perhaps it is the general aspect of 

 incompleteness and decay, the absence of energy and enter- 

 prise, making the lavish gifts of Nature of no avail. In the 

 midst of a country which should be overflowing with agri- 

 cultural products, neither milk, nor butter, nor cheese, 

 nor vegetables, nor fruit, are to be had. You constantly 

 hear people complaining of the difficulty of procuring even 

 the commonest articles of domestic consumption, when, in 

 fact, they ought to be produced by every land-owner. The 

 agricultural districts in Brazil are rich and fertile, but there 

 is no agricultural population. The nomad Indian, floating 

 about in his canoe, the only home to which he has a genuine 

 attachment, never striking root in the soil, has no genius 

 for cultivating the ground. As an illustration of the Indian 

 character, it may not be amiss to record an incident which 

 occurred yesterday when we were leaving Monte Al^gre. On 

 his journey to Erere, Major Coutinho had been requested by 

 an Indian and his wife, whose acquaintance he had made in 

 former excursions there, to take one of their boys, a child 

 about eight years of age, with him to Rio. This is very com- 



