I saw, at this place, that remarkable phenomenon, called the Monjolo, and really was impressed with the simplicity of this primary exemplification of the mechanical adaptation of means to an end; but I could not restrain laughter at the ludicrous display of see-saw motion which was kept up every half minute. The apparatus, if it is entitled to be dignified by that name, consists in an upright support for a beam, which works by a sort of hinge upon its top, and having at one end a pestle secured beneath it, that plays into a mortar, while the other end of the beam is excavated into a trough. The water pours from a small channel or conductor into this trough, and when filled it becomes heavier than the other extremity. This end is thus depressed, while the other is raised aloft; and the slanting position allowing the water to escape, there is no longer sufficient weight to counterbalance the end having the pestle, and consequently it descends forcibly into the mortar; pounding, by its frequent repetition, whatever may be placed in it. So soon as the level is again brought about, of course the water again fills the trough, and it is again depressed and emptied, keeping up a constant see-saw operation, day and night, unless the beam is propped aloft, and thus its motion arrested.

The fulfilment of that ideal principle of perpetual motion is more nearly attained in this extremely simple mechanism than by any machinery with which science has favored the world; and though much more efficient means have been devised, of accomplishing all that can be done by the Monjolo, yet its ready adaptation, with a very small stream of water, renders it useful in the hands of many, who cannot employ other labor-saving appliances. It pounds coffee, big hominy, farina, and would beat dough finely.

Thursday, October 5, 1865.

Breakfasting at Tapera, the fazenda of Senor Queiroz, at which we were quartered, we mounted our mules, with a servant upon another, and set out for the fazenda of Senor Joaquim Bonifacio D’Amaral. The rest of our train was left at Tapera until our return, and with a fine pasture and plenty of corn, the stock ought to improve by the rest. After riding something over four miles, with the assistance of a guide we reached the large and really elegant establishment of the gentleman above-named. Presenting the letter which we bore to him, he gave us a reception which assured me we would enjoy the visit, and the result fully confirmed my anticipations.

Although I did not speak his language, yet he seemed to communicate his spirit through the words reported to me, and evidently thought and spoke with much intelligence. While his bearing was dignified and refined, there was a familiarity and simplicity in his manner that soon caused me to feel easy in his presence.

He ordered refreshments for us, and a large waiter was brought by the servant with coffee, ale, and brandy; but we only partook of the ale. I had taken coffee before breakfast, and then café leite (coffee with milk) at breakfast, and really had no mind for any further stimulant, but courtesy demanded that something be taken.

The parlor of Senor Bonifacio is spacious and furnished very tastefully; but the plan of the house is marred by having the small bedrooms, called here “alcova,” without proper ventilation, and opening into the parlor. These are also neatly furnished.

A separate apartment was assigned to each of us, and every thing furnished that could be desired. The beds were particularly neat, the pattern of the bedstead being that of the French style for a single person, and yet very capacious, upon which lay spring-mattresses of the best quality, and the whole covered with sheets and counterpanes of the whitest hue and most tasteful pattern. The elegant earthenware jug, or large bottle, for holding water to drink, was in a plate of the same material upon the table, and is a very convenient article that is much used here for keeping the water cool, and, at the same time, free from dust that enters a pitcher. A fine china bowl and pitcher were also at hand; and at night, a bathing-tub of metal, two feet and a half across the mouth and eight or ten inches deep, was brought in and filled with water, in which it was a luxury to perform ablutions. This feature of every well-regulated Brazilian dwelling is admirably adapted to the comfort of the inmates of a warm climate; and yet, a large proportion of the people here use tepid or even warm water for bathing their persons or their feet, when cold water would evidently be more pleasant and more invigorating.

A new model of candlestick, with a glass upon it to protect the light from the current of air in carrying it, was used for our bedrooms, and, apart from being very appropriate, was made of silver in the most tasteful style.

The dining-room in this establishment, as in most houses of the country, is very large; and, although the family-table is perhaps fifteen feet long, a table of twice that length could be accommodated in the room. Every portion of the table-furniture was neat, and yet no special display in the ceremonies of the table. The gentleman of the house was seated at one end of the table, with his wife upon his left hand and myself on his right, upon the opposite sides of the table. There was neither ham, turkey, or fowl of any kind for dinner, which in our country are considered essentials to a well supplied table; and yet there was quite a sufficient variety of articles to constitute an excellent dinner. Roast beef and beefsteak, mutton, and pork were all served in the most approved modes, and with a good assortment of vegetables and a delicious dessert, the dinner was relished very much. Wines of the finest quality were upon the table, and coffee of superb make was served after all other things were concluded. The combination of wines and coffee seems to be an excess of stimulants in the routine of dining in this country, and cannot be promotive of digestion; but I relish very much the small cup of fine strong coffee, such as we had here, and will fall into this habit of coffee after dinner without any difficulty.