On Monday morning the Elliotts resumed their journey towards Colonia, having, I am sure, enjoyed their little visit, and we all felt pleased to have been able to entertain them. The autumn had now come, and Mr. Jardine was beginning to think about his shooting, and looking over the guns and ammunition. The season had been a favourable one, partridges, or rather quail, were already getting into good condition, and it would not be long before the duck-shooting commenced. In shooting "quail," the custom was for two or three sportsmen to walk in a line, about fifty yards apart, and so catch the birds as they rose in front of them from the long grass, where they lay concealed. They were fairly plentiful, and, if the birds rose well, as they often did, afforded good sport, although to make a good bag often involved a fair amount of walking. Don Alejandro was fond of shooting, besides being well above an average shot. I sometimes made up a third and, although the same could certainly not be said of me, yet sometimes I was more successful than I had any reason to expect. Mr. Jardine liked to shoot two or three days a week during the winter, so that opportunity to improve was not lacking. The quail, although inferior both in size and flavour to an English partridge, were a pleasant change of diet, and made an excellent curry, both for breakfast or dinner, a dish which was always much appreciated. A few days later, poor little Peter contracted a somewhat severe chill, and as on the next day he seemed worse rather than better, and his mother was anxious about him, I offered to ride in to San Jose to get him a supply of medicine, and also to execute some other little commissions which were needed, so I saddled up "Carnival" soon after mid-day and reached the town a little before four o'clock. I finished the shopping I had to do, and then took the opportunity of making my call upon Don Carlos Mendoza, the new Gefe Politico at his town residence, facing the "plaza," or square. On reaching the house, I sent in my name, and was at once admitted. Don Carlos received me in his own room, and as I entered rose to greet me, and expressed his pleasure at making my acquaintance. He was a short man, apparently about forty years of age with an alert manner, and a very pleasant expression. "Colonel Antonio Martinez wrote to me about you," he said with a smile. "He is 'muy amigo mio,' 'a great friend of mine,' and is now holding a rather important appointment in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs." After a few minutes' conversation, he took me into the "sala," where he presented me to his Senora, a stately-looking lady, who, I afterwards learned, was a member of one of the oldest Spanish families in Monte Video. Five minutes later a pretty-looking girl, who might be about fourteen, entered the room. The Senora said, "This is my daughter, Carmen, and I have a son Alfonso, who is younger, and is now away at school." Don