two hours sitting round the camp fire with the peons, alternately dozing and sucking mate.  We believe he heard some expert opinions on the subject of the “roncadors” of the camp during his vigil.  At any rate he had full opportunity for proving the reality of Ruskin’s words, “There is no solemnity so deep to a right-thinking creature as that of dawn.”  At the same time he was heard to murmur something to the effect that he would prefer a little less of the “deep solemnity” and a little more of “deep slumber” another morning.

Scarcely were the toilets, and the packing of personal luggage, accomplished, before a request was made that the mosquito nets and beds might be removed for loading, and, as we emerged from the various tents, the breakfast-table greeted us ready laden with tea (from the kettle), sardines, jam, peons’ biscuits, etc.  True, the only milk procurable was some condensed milk, which had “gone solid,” there were not enough knives to go round, and a few other irregularities, but no little items of that sort ever disturbed the temper of The Tacuruers; they simply remarked with the other “Autocrat of the Breakfast Table,” “Difficulties are Nature’s challenges to you,” and used one spoon for all their cups, tore off lumps of bread with their fingers (when they could get hold of a loaf), and used the same plate and knife for jam and sardines alike, and enjoyed their early meal.

[Illustration:  “Rich black alluvial Soil.”]

There was one subject that did cause sore feeling, and that was mosquitoes.  We had thought we knew all about them, we were proud with the conceit of nets, ammonia, and veils, but our pride had a fall.  Comparatively speaking, we had only known mosquitoes theoretically before (though that knowledge was bad enough); last night we learnt of them practically, none of us had thought of tucking in our nets, and mosquitoes seemed to swarm up under each net before we had been in bed for half an hour.  Little peace did anyone get through those long night hours, and, though a voice came from one of the tents about 2 a.m., remarking clearly above the intermittent snores, “Oh! how lovely,” few echoed the sentiment, and the speaker assured us this morning that she was only dreaming, and that her words did not refer to insects of any kind, neither were they made in connection with the upheaval caused by “Monte” at one period of the night.  He had taken up his quarters at one end of the ladies’ tent, but was disturbed from his beauty sleep by the sudden barking of a dog outside the other end of the tent.  This, of course, must be seen to; it was his duty, so, leaping up, he rushed through the tent, lifting up each one of the low beds, and their occupants, as he passed under them on his way to quell the outside noise.  The ladies forbore to scream, though they thought of earthquakes, but settled down again to their occupation of trying to kill mosquitoes, quietly, in the dark, and to snatch moments of slumber occasionally.