In nearly all the northern lands small trees grow irregularly all over the camp, and in order to plough the land these trees must be dug up.  Machines are manufactured in the United States to deal with land containing tree roots.  They perform the double operation of cutting roots under ground and ploughing up the surface, but they have not yet been introduced into the Argentine in large numbers.  Other machines dig holes for fence posts at the rate of fifty holes per hour, and they can be so accurately gauged that the posts may be firmly fixed without expending much labour in ramming.

The naphtha engine is likewise used with great advantage for traction purposes.  A striking instance of this is to be found at Rio Gallegos, where many naphtha engines are engaged in the work of carrying wool over a track of more than 300 kilometres, a feat which would be quite impossible with animal labour, owing to the rocky and broken condition of the roads.

As the Santa Fe Land Company owns a great diversity of land, they have used both the steam traction and the naphtha engines, and time will show which machine is to be recommended.

It is a pity that the agricultural implement importers of Buenos Aires should have recently formed themselves into a ring to lift prices, because their doing so will certainly tend to lessen the progress which agriculture is making in the Argentine.  These combinations, however, will not deter the Company from continuing its “march of progress,” but it comes hard on the colonist, who, after all, is the chief factor in building up the fortunes of the great importing houses of Buenos Aires.

One of the greatest competitors of the British-built traction engine is the Hart-Parr oil engine, a splendid agricultural tool, which is invaluable where ordinary fuel is not easily procurable.

It was with great difficulty The Instigator could be persuaded to leave the plough, and at one time his enthusiasm (and the engine) carried him out of sight, and those remaining at the starting-point grew speculative as to whether he would return before dark.  However, a recommencement of drizzling rain apparently cooled his ardour, and restored him to the party.  The nomads gladly turned their thoughts and coaches towards the section house, realising as they went the sweet truth of the words, “The ploughman homeward plods his weary way.”  Lunch awaited them, and the fish of the morning appeared in a more pleasant guise, to be enjoyed by all.  After lunch, the rain showing no signs of clearing off, the party had to give up all idea of the lake proper, but watched one form in front of the house instead, and wondered how it would be negotiated when the time came for an onward move.  So they sat on chairs, baggage and benches under the verandah, and tried to keep awake, while observing the steady downpour.  One member of the party at last gave up the struggle against the inevitable, and sank gracefully into the arms of Morpheus, represented by the bags of biscuits and other impedimenta.  A photo was secured of him as he lay half concealed amongst the portmanteaux, packages and “pan.”  We refrain from publishing it, because the chief feature of the picture is in the boots of the sleeper. (We trust no weak humour is intended in the preceding paragraph?—­EDITOR.)