tattooed with black, and his lips and nose are pierced with holes, reminding one of the becoming vanities he has renounced in favor of civilization.[71] Besides Bruno we have a girl, Alexandrina by name, who, by her appearance, has a mixture of Indian and black blood in her veins. She promises very well, and seems to have the intelligence of the Indian with the greater pliability of the negro. _September 29th._—One of the great charms of our residence here is, that we have so many pleasant walks within easy reach. My favorite walk in the early morning is to the wood on the brow of the hill. From the summit, the sunrise is lovely over the village below, the lake with its many picturesque points and inlets, and the forests on the opposite shores. From this spot a little path through the bushes brings one at once into a thick, beautiful wood. Here one may wander at will, for there are a great many paths, worn by the Indians, through the trees; and one is constantly tempted on by the cool, pleasant shade, and by the perfume of moss and fern and flower. The forest here is full of life and sound. The buzz of insects, the shrill cry of the cicadas, the chattering talk of the papagaios, and occasionally busy voices of the monkeys, make the woods eloquent. The monkeys are, however, very difficult of approach, and though I hear them often, I have not yet seen them on the trees; but Mr. Hunnewell told me that the other day, when shooting in this very wood, he came upon a family of small white monkeys sitting on a bough together, and talking with much animation. One of the prettiest of the paths, with which my daily walks made me familiar, leads over an igarapé to a house, or rather to a large thatched shed, in the forest, used for preparing mandioca. It is supplied with four large clay ovens, having immense shallow pans fitted on to the top, with troughs for kneading, sieves for straining, and all the apparatus for the various processes to which the mandioca is subjected. One utensil is very characteristic; the large, empty turtle-shells, which may be seen in every kitchen, used as basins, bowls, &c. I suppose this little establishment is used by a number of persons, for in my morning walks I always meet troops of Indians going to it, the women with their deep working baskets,—something like the Swiss “hotte,”—in which they carry their tools, on their backs, supported by a straw band fastened across the forehead, and their babies astride on their hips, so as to leave their hands perfectly free. They always give me a cordial morning greeting and stop to look at the plants and flowers with which I am usually laden. Some of the women are quite pretty, but as a general thing the Indians in this part of the country do not look very healthy, and are apt to have diseases of the eyes and skin. It is a curious thing that the natives seem more liable to the maladies of the country than strangers. They are very subject to intermittent fevers, and one often