_January 28th._—Yesterday our kind host arranged an excursion into the country, for my especial pleasure, that I might see something of the characteristic amusements of Monte Alégre. One or two neighbors joined us, and the children, a host of happy little folks, for whom anything out of the common tenor of every-day life is “_festa_,” were not left behind. We started on foot to walk out into a very picturesque Indian village called Surubiju. Here we were to breakfast, returning afterwards in one of the heavy carts drawn by oxen, the only conveyance for women and children in a country where a carriage-road and a side-saddle are equally unknown. Our walk was very pleasant, partly through the woods, partly through the campos; but as it was early in the day, we did not miss the shade when we chanced to leave the trees. We lingered by the wayside, the children stopping to gather wild fruits, of which there were a number on the road, and to help me in making a collection of plants. It was about nine o’clock when we reached the first straw-house, where we stopped to rest. Though it has no longer the charm of novelty for me, I am always glad to visit an Indian cottage. You find a cordial welcome; the best hammock, the coolest corner, and a _cuia_ of fresh water are ready for you. As a general thing, the houses of the Indians are also more tidy than those of the whites; and there is a certain charm of picturesqueness about them which never wears off. After a short rest, we went on through the settlement, where the sitios are scattered at considerable distances, and so completely surrounded by trees that they seem quite isolated in the forest. Although the Indians are said to be a lazy people, and are unquestionably fitful and irregular in their habits of work, in almost all these houses some characteristic occupation was going on. In two or three the women were making hammocks, in one a boy was plaiting the leaves of the Curua palm into a tolda for his canoe, in another the inmates were making a coarse kind of pottery; and in still another a woman, who is quite famous in the neighborhood for her skill in the art, was painting cuias. It was the first time I had seen the prepared colors made from a certain kind of clay found in the Serra. It is just the carnival season, and, as every one has a right to play pranks on his neighbors, we did not get off without making a closer acquaintance than was altogether pleasant with the rustic artist’s colors. As we were leaving the cottage, she darted out upon us, her hands full of blue and red paints. If they had been tomahawks, they could not have produced a more sudden rout; and it was a complete _sauve qui peut_ of the whole company across the little bridge which led to the house. As a stranger, I was spared; but all were not fortunate enough to escape, and some of the children carried their blue and red badges to the end of the day.