The power house stands below a reservoir, which is connected by three enormous iron pipes with the dam 2200 feet higher up the river. Two of these pipes are twelve feet in diameter, the remaining one fifteen feet, and through them the water rushes to feed the reservoir immediately above the station. Short, thick pipes lead the water into the seven large turbine generators which together develop over thirty thousand horse-power. The current generated is received at a pressure of 2300 volts and transformed to 40,000 for transmission across the twenty-two miles of line to the city, where it is again transformed at the distributing station to a voltage suitable to the requirements of consumers. All along the river’s banks the natives were early taught by the Jesuits to construct small water-mills for crushing their sugar cane, and although these primitive “power stations” still exist in considerable numbers, the owners of them are amazed that the power they have used for so long should be able, by passing through the turbines, to accomplish the mighty feat of driving 200 large cars over 100 miles of streets at almost any speed, as well as turning the heavy machinery of factories and mills many miles away. The numerous workshops for repairing the machinery of the station employ a small army of nearly 200 men, and the Brazilians, Spaniards, Portuguese, Italians, Germans, who form this staff are housed in the picturesque little village of Parnahyba, which nestles on a hill-side about a quarter of a mile away. A typical country church stands on the sloping village square, and is the only building of any importance in it. It is fairly well built, but decorated with the cheap, garish ornaments that attract the untrained eye. In front of the high altar paper flowers, in inferior china vases, and cheap candles embellish the shrines of the velvet-robed plaster saints. Poor lithographs, all highly coloured, mark the stations of the cross. Confessionals, open at the top and sides, barely conceal the priests who listen to the recital of the villagers’ lapses from grace. Outside, groups of orange trees grow round the little bamboo dwellings, while further down the hill the river, released from its labour at the power house, rushes past, making a cheerful music. The trees harbour birds of myriad hues, the [Illustration: THE POWER STATION.]