strength to rally in the cold when the period of collapse comes. You say you would not live in a place where such a sword hung over your head, but they read New York and Chicago papers in July with records of hundreds of deaths from sunstroke while their temperature is hardly varying five degrees from seventy, and in February, when their fever is at its worst, they read the numbers of victims of pneumonia, grippe, diphtheria, and find the ills of life not so unevenly distributed after all. Men on salaries large enough to live in Petropolis need have little fear of yellow fever. But the missionaries in Rio, the secretaries of Y. M. C. A., Bible Society, etc., and the under-clerks of foreign establishments must have it once. How these men and women have nursed each other through the sharpness of the fever and the awful weakness afterwards! Do you wonder that friendships spring up under these circumstances between people who would hardly find their affinity at home? Kipling voiced the spirit of such comradeship in a small community in a foreign land, when he wrote: “I have eaten your bread and salt, I have drunk your water and wine, The deaths ye died I have watched beside And the lives that ye lead were mine. “Was there aught that I did not share, In vigil, or toil, or ease, One joy or woe that I did not know, Dear hearts across the seas? “I have written the tale of our life, For a sheltered people’s mirth, In jesting guise--but ye are wise, And ye know what the jest is worth.” [Illustration: STATE OF S. PAULO (MASSACHUSETTS SHOWS RELATIVE SIZE).] SANTOS AND SOME BRAZILIANS. Though you are so comfortable and happy in Petropolis with frequent excursions to Rio, you cannot leave Brazil without a trip to Santos and São Paulo. Perhaps you never heard of these places before you arrived, but now they are all-important. You recall “Santos” as a mark stuck in coffee-bags at your grocer’s at home. Here you know it is the port which ships the greatest amount of coffee to Europe and North America of any in the world--millions and millions of dollars’ worth. And São Paulo, a city of 200,000, is the capital of a great and wealthy state of the same name, lying up on the high table-land forty miles from Santos, its port. You study the daily papers for a “_vapor_” (steamer) to take you these two hundred miles farther south, and find them due from every port in Europe, freighters with cabins for a few passengers. It is a rather rough voyage, but after twenty hours you round the island which lies in front of Santos, making the Santos “river” a quiet harbor.