sees Indians worn to mere skin and bone by this terrible scourge. If the morning walk in the woods is delightful, the evening stroll on the beach in front of the house is no less so, when the water is dyed in the purple sunset, and the quiet of the scene is broken here and there by a fire on the sands, around which a cluster of Indians are cooking their supper. As Major Coutinho and I were walking on the shore last evening we came on such a group. They were a family who had come over from their home on the other side of the lake, with a boat-load of fish and turtle to sell in the village. When they have disposed of their cargo, they build their fire on the beach, eat their supper of salted or broiled fish, farinha, and the nuts of a particular kind of palm (Atalea), and then sleep in their canoe. We sat down with them, and, that they should not think we came merely out of curiosity, we shared their nuts and farinha, and they were soon very sociable. I am constantly astonished at the frank geniality of these people, so different from our sombre, sullen Indians, who are so unwilling to talk with strangers. The cordiality of their reception, however, depends very much on the way in which they are accosted. Major Coutinho, who has passed years among them, understands their character well, and has remarkable tact in his dealings with them. He speaks their language a little also, and this is important here where many of the Indians speak only the “lingua geral.” This was the case with several of the family whose acquaintance we made last evening, though some of them talked in Portuguese fluently enough, telling us about their life in the forest, their success in disposing of their fish and turtle, and inviting us to come to their house. They pointed out to us one of the younger girls, who they said had never been baptized, and they seemed to wish to have the rite performed. Major Coutinho promised to speak to the priest about it for them. So far as we can learn, the white population do little to civilize the Indians beyond giving them the external rites of religion. It is the old sad story of oppression, duplicity, and license on the part of the white man, which seems likely to last as long as skins shall differ, and which necessarily ends in the degradation of both races.