The city of São Paulo is full of pleasant surprises. Its three principal streets, the Rua São Bento, Rua Quinze de Novembro, and Rua Direita, form a triangle in the busiest part of the city, and are narrow, crowded thoroughfares, the electric cars taking up the principal part of the roadways, which in business hours become so congested that progress is very slow, both for pedestrians and vehicular traffic. Many of the shops are fine, and contain a goodly display of wares, but prices are high. Their harvest season is somewhat restricted, owing to the large number of feast days or holidays throughout the year, in addition to the Sundays, upon which [Illustration: GOVERNMENT BUILDINGS IN THE LARGO DE PALACIO.] the bulk of the shops are closed. In the case of tobacconists Sunday closing is rigorously enforced, and the multitude of smokers have to lay in their supplies for the week-end. It is on a Sunday or a festa day that the crowds in the street are most interesting, for then the folk come out in their gala clothes on pleasure and amusement bent. There is no uniformity whatever in the costumes worn by either sex. Bare-headed women wearing fur boas, men wearing overcoats, others clad in white drill suits and straw hats or black felt head-gear, parade the streets in an ever changing stream. The car conductors, in grey uniforms with gold facings, are kept busy attending to the human freights, whilst policemen, in black with red facings, direct the traffic with small, white batons, as in Paris. Lottery ticket vendors yell their wares in competition with purveyors of sweets, cakes, and pastries, whose yellow delicacies tempt the flies and children who swarm around, the former brushed off with large feather brushes, the latter encouraged by glowing entreaties. Everything looks new here, even traditions and customs from the Old World seeming to undergo a change. In the crowds at the street corners the men are mostly garbed in black, but the women affect all the colours of the rainbow. White dresses predominate, but blues, magentas, yellows, pinks, greens, and faded vermilions are freely admixed, varied with yellow and red kerchiefs and purple shawls. Here a group of four or five mules ridden by bare-footed countrymen in blue trousers, there shaggy yellow ponies, sun-faded and mud-stained, brush through and rub against the holiday-making crowd. Yonder, on the steps leading up to the gardens, sits an Italian, munching his midday meal of bread, cheese, and olives. In these gardens, in front of the President’s palace, are many curious and beautiful trees, amongst them two stately oaks with the freshest of green leaves, soft and delicate, as in early summer.