This was to me a new scene,—when I thought of the complete change of habits which this kind of life required, and how entirely different it was from any thing in England, I may almost say in Europe,—when I looked round, and saw our several fires, for the cold air had, by this time, obliged each person to have his own; the men all asleep, our pack-saddles, trunks, and other parts of our baggage scattered about, as it was taken from the horses,—when I heard the running of the water, and the rustling of the trees; and, when I considered, that I was entering among a people with whose habits I was little acquainted, whose feelings towards my countrymen I was ignorant of,—I felt a kind of damp; but this was soon removed, by thinking of the pleasure of return, and of the accomplishment of what I was deemed incapable of performing. I was cheered by my recollection of the knowledge I had of the language, and by the determination I felt within me of conforming to the customs of the people,—of submitting to their prejudices. I was not old enough to have contracted any habits, too deep to be laid aside when necessary. These thoughts were interrupted by the cry of “Jezus,” which was repeated every half minute in a dismal voice; I called to the guide, supposing it to proceed from some person in distress; he waked, and I told him what had made me call to him,—he said, it was only some person helping another “_a bem morrer_,” that is, that some dying person, which I found was the usual custom, had a friend to repeat the word “Jezus,” until the sufferer expired, that it might not be forgotten, and, perhaps, to keep the devil off. I dined the following day at the village of Mamanguape, situated upon the banks of a dry river; it is a thriving place. These more modern villages have been built in one long street upon the road, the older ones in a square. It had then about three hundred inhabitants; but I have since heard, that the number is more than doubled, and that new houses are building. The river can scarcely be reckoned of any advantage to the village, but the place forms a convenient break between Goiana and Rio Grande for the travelling pedlars, a useful, industrious, and, generally, honest set of men, as their resting-place and head-quarters; from hence they make daily excursions to the plantations, at a little distance, and return here to sleep. I passed the night in the out-houses of some sugar-works; my guide was much astonished at my not asking for lodgings at the _caza-grande_, or owner’s house; but I preferred these kind of quarters to better ones, where I might run the risk of being obliged to remain half the night awake, for the purpose of giving news. The hospitality, however, of the planters, is very great; and no recommendation is necessary, though I had provided myself with a few letters.