The main avenue, still in the making, promises to be a gorgeous thoroughfare one of these days. There is a casino, a theatre (the Odeon), a palace for the bishop, barracks, a hospital, a brewery which cost £250,000 to build, and a "Savoy Hotel," where there was on sale whisky "as drunk in the House of Lords," and where one's admiration was only checked by finding the telephone system defective. Tucuman is the centre of the sugar-growing industry. For many miles around the country is covered with sugar plantations, and the railway companies have little belt lines running through the cultivated area to facilitate the gathering of the crop. When I was there in 1913 the harvest had been the most prolific within knowledge. In places the line was blocked with wagons piled high with the cane, whilst in several quarters I heard grumbling that there was not a sufficiency of trucks to cope with the trade. [Illustration: A HISTORIC BUILDING: "CASA INDEPENDENCIA" AT TUCUMAN.] One day, accompanied by several friends, I made an extensive motor-car trip to the sugar plantations. As soon as we got beyond the town, and upon the broad road which stretched as far as eye could reach until it was lost in the shimmer of sunshine, we experienced the inconvenience of a bad way. With all its excellences, Argentina, as I have before remarked, has as bad roads as you will find in the world. There had been no rain for months, and our route was across miles of powdery earth. We sank into it almost to the axle. We churned up dust so that soon we were smothered in it. Our faces were almost as grimy as though we had been in a coalpit. Gaucho horsemen pranced past us in clouds of dust. When we overtook an ox-drawn wagon it was like pushing through a fog of dust. On either side the vegetation was profuse and rank, and the terrific heat of the tropics filled the air with a strong, nauseating aroma. When we were in the sugar-cane district we saw hundreds of tawny-skinned men cutting the cane. Armed with an instrument which seemed to be half knife and half butcher's chopper, the peon seized the top of a cane, cut it off near the root, gave it a swing in the air, and with rapid slashes removed the protruding leaves, and then pitched the stalk on one side, where a heap was lying to be gathered by women and children and carried to the waiting wagons. Twice we halted to watch the dexterity of the cutters and to visit the mud huts. These were picturesque but not pretty. They looked like disreputable brick-kilns, and although possessed of a door, were deficient in windows. The interior was dark, but most of the family spend their time out of doors under the trees, where they have their fires and prepare maté, the native tea, which is served in a shell and sucked through a tube. Whenever the natives have nothing else to do you are sure to find them drinking maté.