From Campinas the journey was continued over the Mogyana Railroad, a narrow gauge track. The line passes through coffee plantations for some distance, and then into uncultivated lands, where the only industry is the raising of stock. A part of the land traversed is abandoned agricultural land, and part of it has never been under cultivation. The cattle seen on these farms are only of fair quality, for not much care has been taken in breeding the animals up to a high standard. With many bends and graceful curves the road follows a stream, cuts across valleys and around hills. There is no part of the ten hours’ journey when hills of fair size are not a prominent feature in the foreground. A number of towns are passed, and a few very narrow gauged railroads run off to plantations, which cannot be seen from the railroads. The soil is almost the colour of dried blood, and this red dirt filters in through the windows in great clouds. This blood-red dust colours everything it touches with a reddish hue. The clothing is soon tinted with it, and even the children’s complexions show the effects, for Brazilian children, like their cousins all over the world, like to play in the dirt. But this red soil is good coffee land, and coffee plantations are seen crowning the summits of the hills. At last the train reaches Riberão Preto, near which are situated the best and largest coffee plantations, not only in Brazil but in the world. The town is comparatively modern, for this district is newer than Campinas, and it has been growing in importance year after year in the past two decades. It is now a city of ten or fifteen thousand people. [Illustration: “MONTE ALEGRE” FAZENDA.] At the station were waiting carriages from the hospitable “Monte Alegre” _fazenda_, the residence of Colonel Francisco Schmidt, who is known as the “coffee king.” This man came to Brazil as a poor emigrant boy a half century ago, and hoed coffee trees for other _fazenderos_, and on lands which he now owns. Seated on the broad veranda of “Monte Alegre,” one could see avenues of coffee trees stretching out over the hills, and good coffee lands are always hilly, until they were lost in the horizon. Although it was not possible to see, yet one knew that they continued in the same unbroken rows down the other slope. I rode in a carriage with the Colonel for hours through a continuous succession of coffee trees, during the three days that I was his guest, with no end in sight. When you consider that there are from two hundred and fifty to three hundred trees to each acre, you will readily realize that the number of trees soon runs into the thousands, then into the tens of thousands, and finally into the millions. So do not be surprised when I tell you that this coffee king has already growing upon his various _fazendas_ the almost incredible number of eight million coffee trees. I did not see all of them, but I saw so many that numbers lost their meaning, and I could only think in millions.