scheme that I believe we counted every hour till the boat put to sea.

Not all the glories of the Tijuca with its view across the bay straight into fairyland, the red-roofed town, the myriad islets, the tall palm-tree avenue of Botafogo, the tropic trees and butterflies, and the whole wondrous panorama spread at our feet, contented us.

During the voyage to the River Plate we planned p. 8the thing well out, and talked it over with our friends. They, being mostly of our age, found it well reasoned, and envied us, they being due at banks and counting-houses, and other places where no chance like ours of making money, could be found. Arrived in Buenos Ayres, a cursed chance called us to Bahia Blanca upon business, but though we had a journey of about a thousand miles to make through territory just wasted by the Indians and in which at almost every house a man or two lay dead, we counted it as nothing, for we well knew on our return our fortunes were assured.

p. 8

And so the autumn days upon the Arroyo de los Huesos seemed more glorious than autumn days in general, even in that climate perhaps the most exhilarating of the world. Horses went better, “maté” was hotter in the mouth, the pulperia caña seemed more tolerable, and the “China” girls looked more desirable than usual, even to philosophers who had their fortunes almost as good as made.

Our business in the province of Buenos Ayres done, and by this time I have forgotten what it was, we sold our horses, some of the best I ever saw in South America, for whatever they would fetch, and in a week found ourselves in Durazno, a little town in Uruguay, where in the camps surrounding, horses and mules were cheap.

About a league outside the town, and in a wooded elbow of the river Yi, lived our friend Don Guillermo. p. 9I myself years before had helped to build his house; and in and out of season, no matter if I arrived upon a “pingo” shining with silver gear, or on a “mancaron” with an old saddle topped by a ragged sheepskin, I was a welcome guest.

p. 9

Ah! Don Guillermo, you and your brother Don Tomas rise also through the mist of twenty years.

Catholics, Scotchmen, and gentlemen, kindly and hospitable, bold riders and yet so religious that, though it must have been a purgatory to them as horsemen, they used to trudge on foot to mass on Sunday, swimming the Yi when it was flooded, with 

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