A MORNING IN THE TROPICS.
��123
��A MOBNING IN TEE TROPICS.
��BY J. B. CONNOR.
��In the portrayal of a scene so greatly at variance with the clatter and din which ushers in the new-born day in our own country, I must draw to a certain extent upon your imagination; for no true northerner can ever fully under- stand or appreciate the southern idea of comfort, which is as far removed from laziness as are the inhabitants of their re- spective Americas. I may be pardoned, also, for remarking that wealth, position and honorable mention is the good which the ambitious citizen of the north strives to gain, while he whose home is in the land of the southern cross is content to live as his fathers have done before him, and his happy nature and warm heart shine forth resplendent in every linea- ment of his genial face.
Leave, if you please, your wealth, your position and honorable mention, and come with me to Brazil, to Pernam- buco, for I have chosen "the city of bridges" for our morning pilgrimage. See how beautiful she rests upon the bosom of the now placid sea; scarcely above its surface are her shores lifted, but a thoughtful Providence has thrown a coral arm around her, and, thanks to its protection, no harm shall come to the nestling children lying side by side, safe- ly anchored in the blessed haven. The deep-toned bell at Santo Antonio slow- ly tolls its four beats, and still the cool mist hangs in heavy clouds along the beach. Proud Olinda rises in all the majesty of her former grandeur, and, but for the white tablets that mark the graves of the Count of Nassau's contemporaries, we might even now point to her as the capital of the equatorial colonies of Port- ugal. The large white building near the summit was once occupied by the law school with its 300 students. They have long since passed away, but buildings in Brazil are made of enduring material,
��and last for centuries. I fancy that the former inhabitants look down— if it be possible— with intense gratification upon these lasting monuments of the scorn and derision with which they ever treated the denizens of the lower town (Pernam- buco) . The first puff of the ocean breeze dispels the misty curtain, and reveals in succession Receife, Santo Antonio and Boa Vista— the three districts which form the city. A large portion of the people at Receife obtain a livelihood, either directy or indirectly, from the "briny deep," consequently it is here we see the first signs of awakening life. Fishermen emerge from every conceiva- ble nook and corner affording the slight- est apology of a shelter, roll up their mats— which serve as beds— and proceed to put themselves through a course of gymnastics. After a due amount of stretching and yawning, the "catama- rans" (rafts of cork-wood logs, with a lateen sail) are launched, and with much jabbering and scolding paddled out- side the reef, where the now fresh wind fills the sail and wafts them with the speed of a race horse to the fishing grounds. Anon they will return laden with those deep-sea beauties which never fail to send a thrill of delight through the Brazilian heart.
Five o'clock, and the first flush of morning casts its faint illumination across the bine Atlantic. Now the milkman comes to make his morning rounds, not with a rattling cart, but with the cow herself, and, stopping to milk the desired quantity, he cracks a joke with the housemaid, or extols the beauty of the calf tied to its mother's tail. The mimgao woman is abroad, and it is high time, for already a group of negroes — who have passed the night on the steps of a neighboring church — are getting im- patient for their morning porridge. A
�� �
