mountains. It is of tlie usual symmetrical form; and with
its whitewashed church standing in the centre, had rather a
pretty appearance. The outskirting houses rose out of the
plain like isolated beings, without the accompamment oi
o-ardens or courtyards. This is generally the case in the
country, and all the houses have, in consequence, an uncomfortable
aspect. At night we stopped at a pulpería, or
drinkiiig-sliop. During the evening a great number of
Gauchos came in to drink spirits and smoke cigars: their
appearance is very striking; they are generally tall and
handsome, but with a proud and dissolute expression of
countenance. They frequently wear their moustaehes, and
long black hair curling down their backs. With theu-
brishtly-coloured garments, great spurs clanking about their
heels, and knives stuck as daggers (and often so used)
at their waists, they look a very different race of men from
what might be expected from their name of Gauchos or
simple countrymen. Their politeness is excessive: they
never drink their spirits without expecting you to taste
i f but whilst making their exceedingly graceful bow,
they seem quite as ready, if occasion offered, to cuty our
throat. ,
On the third day we pursued rather an irregular course, as
I was employed in examining some beds of marble. On the
fine plains of turf we saw many ostriches {Struthio Ixheci).
Some of the flocks contained as many as twenty or thirty
birds. These, when standing on any little eminence, and
seen against the clear sky, presented a very noble appearance.
I never met with such tame ostriches m any other
nart of the country : it was easy to gallop up within a short
distance of them; but then, expanding their wm p , they
made all sail right before the wind, and soon left the horse
At"night we came to the house of Don Juan Fuentes a
rich landed proprietor, but not personally known to either
of my companions. On approaching the house of a stranger,
it is usual to follow several little pieces of etiquette: ndmg
up slowly to the door, the salutation of Ave Maria* is given,
and until somebody comes out, and asks you to alight, it is
not customary even to get off your horse. Having entered
the house, some general conversation is kept up for a few
minutes, till permission is asked to pass the night there.
Tliis is granted as a matter of course. The stranger then
takes his meals with the family, and a room is assigned him,
where ivith the horsecloths belonging to his recado (or saddle
of the Pampas) he makes his bed. It is curious how similar
circumstances produce such similar results in manners. At
the Cape of Good Hope the same hospitality, and very
nearly the same points of etiquette, are universally observed.
The difference, however, between the character of the
Spaniard and that of the Dutch boor is shown, by the
former never asking his guest a single question beyond the
strictest rule of politeness, whilst the honest Dutchman
demands where he has been, where he is going, what is his
business, and even how many brothers, sisters, or children
he may happen to have.
Shortly after our arrival at Don Juan’s, one of the large
herds of cattle was driven in towards the house, and three
beasts were picked out to be slaughtered for the supply of
the establishment. These half-wild cattle are very active;
and knowing full well the fatal lazo, they led the horses a long
and laborious chase. After witnessing the rude wealth displayed
in the number of cattle, men, and horses, Don Juan’s
miserable house was quite curious. The floor consisted of
hardened mud, and the windows were without glass; the
furniture of the sitting-room boasted only of a few of the
roughest chairs and stools, with a couple of tables. The
supper, although several strangers were present, consisted of
two huge piles, one of roast beef, the other of boiled, with
some pieces of pumpkin: besides this latter there was no
other vegetable, and not even a morsel of bread. For drink-
• T h e fo rm a l a n sw e r o f th e ow n e r o f th e p la c e is, » s in p c c ad o conco-
b id a — (co n ceiv ed w ith o u t sin ).
VOL. I I I .
life
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