wood where the supply is plentiful, and after forming a small camp of brush huts, proceed to collect and prepare the leaves for market. They clear a space of ground which they beat hard until it resembles a dark cemented floor, and upon this they pile the leafy branches of the tree. A fire is lit around this, care being taken not to ignite the branches and leaves, which undergo by this means a primitive process of roasting. The dried leaves are then reduced to powder in rough mortars formed by making holes in the ground, the surfaces of which are rammed hard by wooden mallets. The dusty mass is then packed and conveyed to the river banks, where it is shipped to a central market. A more improved method of roasting or drying the maté is practised, however, in Paraguay, where large iron pans are used for drying, and machinery is used for reducing the leaves, from which the central rib of the leaf has been removed, to a fine powder. The word maté, which is generally used to designate the tea, applies really to the gourd in which it is brewed, and is an old French word for “calabash.” It still is used in that sense, although very generally applied to the tea. The consumption of maté or yerba[1] throughout South America is very large, and is on the increase. It takes the place of China tea, and is supposed to have many virtues which neither tea nor coffee possesses. That it is sustaining there is every reason to believe; that it has a less injurious effect than tea or coffee on the system does not seem to be demonstrated; but the fact remains that the people believe in it, and have acquired a taste for it, which is largely contributed to by its cheapness. It is not agreeable to the taste of a novice, and when the “maté” is handed to the visitor, it is generally too hot for his unaccustomed palate. The addition of a little sugar helps to render it more pleasing to some judgments, but the gauchos on the camp do entirely without this addition. After a long journey there is no doubt that “maté” acts as a wonderful restorative, and the Governments of maté-producing States are endeavouring to bring about its adoption in the armies of Continental Europe. A few days spent in camp are full of interest, but a prolonged residence is only for those who are either compelled by their occupation or held by their interests or inclinations to remain upon the solemn prairies. The utter loneliness would, without the occupations that pertain to the animal and agricultural life, turn the brain of one whose life has grown up amongst the life of cities, amidst the society of a variety of his fellows. It is almost as lonely as the great oceans. The dweller upon camps must of necessity be a student of the ever changing sky, of all its moods from sad to gay, stern to smiling, threatening to promising, a beauty ever various and full of an abstract fascination. At times clouds of brown dust swirl up in great curling volumes, [Illustration: A GAUCHO.]