On Arriving At A Posthouse
We Were Told By The Owner, That If We Had Not A
Regular Passport We Must Pass On, For There Were So
Many Robbers He Would Trust No One.
When he read, however,
my passport, which began with "El Naturalista Don
Carlos," his respect and civility were as unbounded as his
suspicions had been before.
What a naturalist might be,
neither he nor his countrymen, I suspect, had any idea;
but probably my title lost nothing of its value from that
cause.
September 20th. - We arrived by the middle of the day at
Buenos Ayres. The outskirts of the city looked quite pretty,
with the agave hedges, and groves of olive, peach and willow
trees, all just throwing out their fresh green leaves. I rode
to the house of Mr. Lumb, an English merchant, to whose
kindness and hospitality, during my stay in the country, I
was greatly indebted.
The city of Buenos Ayres is large; [10] and I should think
one of the most regular in the world. Every street is at right
angles to the one it crosses, and the parallel ones being
equidistant, the houses are collected into solid squares of
equal dimensions, which are called quadras. On the other hand,
the houses themselves are hollow squares; all the rooms opening
into a neat little courtyard. They are generally only
one story high, with flat roofs, which are fitted with seats
and are much frequented by the inhabitants in summer. In
the centre of the town is the Plaza, where the public offices,
fortress, cathedral, etc., stand.
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