This alluring place of residence was isolated in a grave garden of roses. It fronted the green, refreshing foam of the sea, where towered two black rocks. In construction it was a Swiss _chalet_. Steps of marble, polished and rare, led to it. The drawing rooms were ample, luxurious, and filled with objects of art. The bath, in this country home in Brazil, recalls the Baths of Nero. It would have satisfied the sumptuous Ruler of Rome. How he would have enjoyed pushing the buttons which filled the bath room with pink mist of attar of roses or the purple breath of violets! The dining-room, all the other rooms, were equally splendid. There were precious wines in priceless crystal. There was rare and astonishing food. And flowers, dazzling and huge. In _Rei Negro_, Netto’s descriptions of dawn and sunset, and the blinding yellow midday, are both lovely and unforgettable. I keep this book at hand in order to renew my delight in them. There is freshness and exquisiteness in his paintings of the spaces of this unknown land. His books are many. All of them are excellent. His is no slight talent. _Esphinge_ (a novel). _Immortalidade_, (likewise a novel). _Treva_, a book of five novelettes; _Fabulario_ (short stories). _As Sete Dores De N. Senhora_, a noble, uplifting book of faith. _Saudades_, many very brief stories, all of which are attractive and charm with originality. _Scenas e Perfis_, short stories, too, and _O Paraiso_. I am sorry books are advertised as they are in America today. It both lessens interest in buying and reading. Publishers ought to get together, like nations, and arrange a general disarmament plan. At least we might float, occasionally, the white flag of truce. Every reader has his peculiarities of taste, touched always with emotion, which is something not amenable to reason. I personally prefer for pleasure, a book on falconry written by some acute and sensual oriental, to the detailed facts, marshalled accurately and dated of, say, the Newgate Calendar. Ships fascinate me, the beginnings of navigation, Strabo’s _Geography_, maps, old globes, and the Hakluyt Voyages. When I read about a drawing made of a ship a thousand years old, I shiver as at some line of immortal verse. The great emotion sweeps me. Russel Clark wrote: _The most beautiful expression of the hand of man is the sailing ship._ Old shipping books interest me. And the adventures of whaling days. The mischances that befell the Whaling Barque, _George Henry_, kept me awake nights. And the wild-tongued, great Elizabethan Voyagers! I hope pictures have been kept of all the great old ships that ever sailed the seas!