To a European the farms of South America offer such contrasts to those he is familiar with in his own country that he finds it difficult to become accustomed to the immense areas of treeless plains that constitute the estancias of the New World. Everything is on a large scale there. A vast territory, now gently rolling like a heaving sea, now flat as an unruffled lake, with few objects to break the eternal straightness of the distant horizon. The atmosphere and the many illusions it creates offer the greatest variety, however, and as day succeeds day with ceaseless regularity ever changing effects of light and colour diversify the aspect of the landscape. The roads through these unbounded plains are wide-extended tracks, fenced in from the private pastures of the estancias, going generally straight for scores of miles. Driving along these tracks behind four horses in a light covered trap the stranger’s ear is open to receive the softest sound, and eyes to note the slightest variations presented. The silence is broken by the fluttering flight of parrots, pigeons, and small brown owls disturbed from their solemn doze by the approaching team, moving on from perch to perch, always settling ahead to be disturbed again. The lowing of the cattle, the swift stampede of groups of wild horses, and the vast hum of insects break faintly upon the ear. Along the track and in the adjacent fields the whitening bones of animals stare out from the rich verdure that has not quite enwrapped them. These pathetic reminders of the fate that overtakes many of the herd are very plentiful, for whenever an animal dies in the camp, the skin only is removed by the gaucho or cowboy, who comes across it in his daily round, and the carcase is left for the hawks and other carrion-eaters, who lose no time in stripping it of flesh, time and the elements slowly completing the dissolution, and eventually removing the last vestiges of the animal’s existence. [Illustration: CHASING RHEAS.]