In the evening we rode out; whether it was because we had been so many weeks on board ship, and without horse-exercise, or because of the peculiar sweetness and freshness of evening after the sultry tropical day we had just passed, I know not, but I never enjoyed an hour in the open air so much. We rode out of the town by some pretty country-houses, called _sitios_, to one of the out-posts at Mondego, which was formerly the governor's residence. The tamarind, the silk-cotton tree[47], and the palm, shaded us, and a thousand elegant shrubs adorned the garden walls. It is impossible to describe the fresh delicious feel of such an evening, giving repose and health after the fiery day. We were very sorry when obliged to return home; but the sun was gone, there was no moon, and we were afraid that the guards at the various posts of defence might stop us. As we came back, we were challenged at every station; but the words, _amigos ingresos_ were our passport, and we got to Recife just as the evening hymn was singing, harshly and unmusically enough, by the negroes and mulattoes in the streets; but yet every thing that unites men in one common sentiment is interesting. The church doors were open, the altars illuminated, and the very slave felt that he was addressing the same Deity, by the same privilege with his master. It is an evening I can never forget. [Illustration] [Note 47: Bombex pentandrium. _Jaquin._] _28th._--This morning before breakfast, looking from the balcony of Mr. S.'s house, I saw a white woman, or rather fiend, beating a young negress, and twisting her arms cruelly while the poor creature screamed in agony, till our gentlemen interfered. Good God! that such a traffic, such a practice as that of slavery, should exist. Near the house there are two or three depôts of slaves, all young; in one, I saw an infant of about two years old, for sale. Provisions are now so scarce that no bit of animal food ever seasons the paste of mandioc flour, which is the sustenance of slaves: and even of this, these poor children, by their projecting bones and hollow cheeks, show that they seldom get a sufficiency. Now, money also is so scarce, that a purchaser is not easily found, and one pang is added to slavery: the unavailing wish of finding a master! Scores of these poor creatures are seen at different corners of the streets, in all the listlessness of despair--and if an infant attempts to crawl from among them, in search of infantile amusement, a look of pity is all the sympathy he excites. Are the patriots wrong? They have put arms into the hands of the _new_ negroes, while the recollection of their own country, and of the slave-ship, and of the slave-market, is fresh in their memory.