In my former book, South American Travels, I made a statement relative to the pronunciation of the word "Montevideo" as follows: "Many foreigners make the mistake of pronouncing the name of the city with the accent on its penultima 'e'. Each syllable should be pronounced alike, with no distinction made as onto which syllable the accent falls." I have since found out that I was wrong, and am convinced so by my losing a ten-dollar bet with a gentleman relative to the pronunciation of the Uruguayan metropolis. Montevideo has its accent on the penultima. The word is derived from the Latin "Montem video" the final m in montem having been dropped to facilitate pronunciation. Its site was first discovered by Magellan in 1520, and as the 493 feet high dun-colored cerro, which dominates the western side of the harbor on whose shores the city is now built, appeared on the occidental horizon, somebody at the bow of the ship yelled out, "Montem video" ("I see a mountain"), which words gave the city its present name. It can be safely assumed that the man at the bow who uttered the Latin exclamation was a priest or a friar because who amongst a crew of sailors and adventurers would have a knowledge of Latin unless it was a man who had taken Holy Orders? The Spaniards and Portuguese in those days never embarked on any expedition without taking some of these gentry along.

Montevideo is sometimes called "Queen of La Plata" on account of its cleanliness, haughty reserve, and aristocratic appearance; more often has it been styled "Modern Troy" due to decades of internecine strife, anarchy, revolutions, and a Ten Years' War. Now that there has been quietude for several years, with prospects of continued peace, it is unfair to its inhabitants to liken it to the prehistoric city at the southeastern end of the Hellespont.

Several times during the years 1915 and 1916, I visited Montevideo, having made occasional trips from Buenos Aires, but an episode connected with my last advent on Uruguayan shores will take an indefinitely long time to erase it from my memory. It was like this:

On February 17, 1916, I had embarked on the Lamport & Holt steamship Vestris at La Plata for Montevideo to bid farewell to friends returning to the United States. The steamer was scheduled to sail from Montevideo at 2 P.M. the next day.

When that time came I was in the dining room, and was so engrossed in a conversation that appealed to me that I never heard the ringing of bells and the blowing of whistles that denote that an ocean leviathan is about to get under way. Suddenly an acquaintance, Mr. Lynn B. Packer of Norwich, N. Y., ran into the dining room calling out: "The ship is in motion, Stephens, we are in for it!" We both ran up the stairs and onto the deck. True enough, the Vestris was sailing but at a snail's pace, and the anchor was being pulled up. The lighter containing the visitors had left and was now but a black speck behind the breakwater. Not even a fishing boat was in sight. We ran to the port side, and saw a few hundred feet away a rowboat in which were two men pulling away. We yelled to them and waved our handkerchiefs; they stopped. We took off our coats and waved them also; they swung their rowboat around and rowed back towards us. A steward and a couple of sailors got a rope-ladder which they hung over the railing of the deck, and down this Packer and myself clambered, and jumped into the rowboat which had now reached the sides of the Vestris. The two men of the rowboat now pulled out to let the ocean liner pass by, so as not to get caught in the vortex of water caused by the propellers.

The sea was rough; a leaden sky cast a gloomy canopy over the leaden water; to the left rose the dun-colored cerro crowned by its prison and lighthouse. In the background nearly two miles away, seemed to rise in tiers, the somber buildings of drab Montevideo, the twin towers of the cathedral, the Gothic steeple of a church, and a large rectangular pile at the water's edge, which was formerly the university, being silhouetted against the sky line. Black hulls of ships, merchantmen, and freighters flying the flags of most civilized nations, besides the interned German ships of the Kosmos Line, dotted the harbor and the open sea outside of the breakwater, but we were at least half a mile from the nearest one of them.

We now began to size up the two boatmen. They were a villainous looking pair. The one who acted as the boss was an undersized man about thirty-five years old. He wore a black moustache, and about two weeks stubble of beard. His hair was unkempt, and white mucus had collected at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He stunk of garlic, and his clothes were dirty and greasy. His companion was a tall and slender man, a few years his junior. His appearance was likewise unkempt, although his long face, covered with pimples, was clean shaven, except for an occasional straggling whisker on his chin which his razor had overlooked.

The boss boatman, knowing me to be a North American, attempted to converse with me in English, but his knowledge of that tongue was so execrable that he soon had to desist; he knew but a few words of Spanish. By mixing lingoes we made ourselves understood and he informed me that he was a resident of Rio de Janeiro, of which city he was a native, and that he was at present employed as a doctor on a Brazilian passenger ship in Montevideo, and that his regular trips were from Manaos on the Amazon to Montevideo, touching at all the seaports; his comrade, he informed me, was a Paulista and was the Marconi operator on the same ship. Both had been making a visit to the different ships now anchored in Montevideo harbor, having had chats with the doctors and Marconi-men of said ships, and were returning to their own vessel when hailed by us.

This yarn I refused to believe, for no man that I had ever seen had a more unmedical appearance than the boss boatman; moreover instead of attempting to row us to the docks, both men were rowing towards the Brazilian vessel, which we were approaching, and which belied its title of a passenger ship, having more the appearance of a freighter. The sea, as I said, was rough, and I yelled to the boatmen to swing around as I had no desire to be carried into the South Atlantic in an open boat; my misgivings were not so much on account of the elements, as for the thought that I became obsessed with, namely that these two vagabonds were trying to shanghai us, endeavoring to get us aboard the Brazilian ship. Montevideo, Valparaiso, and Callao are noted as tough ports, where shanghaiing is rife, and many of these stories were brought to my mind. To Packer, who lay reposing in the stern, I told my doubts. He replied that he had been thinking the same thing for some time. I told him the best thing for us to do would be to ask for the oars so that we could row back to shore ourselves; in case the boatmen refused, to rush them, and lay them out. He said he was game for a fight but refused to row, giving some excuse which I interpreted in meaning that he was too lazy. I had nothing but a pocket knife with me, and in case of a fight, meant to plant the blade in some vulnerable spot in the anatomy of the boss boatman, whom I took to be the boss villain.

We had gradually been drifting out in the open sea, and the waves were becoming rougher. These were also unpleasant thoughts, especially since during the last few minutes the Brazilians had developed a streak of laziness. Packer gave me a wink which was the cue, and I asked for the oars. Great was my astonishment and also relief of mind, when instead of refusing my request which would have brought on a sanguinary fight with possible loss of life to one or more of us, the boss boatman handed me the oars. The Paulista, ready for a siesta, even though the sea was rough, dropped his oars beside his comrade, and turned over on his side for a snooze. All alone, with no help, I had to row the three occupants back, as each refused to labor any more. It took me two hours, hard pulling, before we again reached the dock at Montevideo. Believing that the "doctor" stunt was a lie, and that both were sailors from the Brazilian vessel, I offered the boatmen a piece of change for their aid in bringing us to terra firma, for unless they had taken us in their rowboat we would by this time be well under way for Santos. The boss boatman was indignant and informed me that I was insulting him. I then handed out some silver to the "Marconi" operator; he was on the point of accepting it, but withdrew his hand at a growl of disapproval from the "doctor."

"You had better have some refreshment," I said to them, leading the way to a nearby bar. They followed me and seating themselves at the same table with us, ordered some raspberry soda. This was astonishment No. 2, for I could hardly conceive such villainous-looking rascals imbibing anything milder than one hundred proof whiskey.

"See this ring," quoth the Fluminense, turning a finger to me so that I could see within the gold setting, a black stone in which was chiselled the image of a serpent: "It denotes the cult of Æsculapius. Most Brazilian doctors wear them. I have been on the same ship for three years. Here is my card." The man pulled a book out of his pocket similar to a lodge pass-book at home, and true enough I saw that he was telling the truth, and that he really was a bona fide physician.

We must have sat at the table for about fifteen minutes, when the Marconi operator got into a row with the waiter, whom he claimed overcharged him the day before on a dish of ice cream. The waiter called the proprietor and a big rumpus occurred. It wound up by the Paulista pulling a fist full of nickle-in-the-slot machine slugs out of his pocket and hurling them with great force into the face of the outraged proprietor. Before he could recover his astonishment, both Brazilians "beat it" in the direction of the docks. Packer and I, anticipating trouble, also "beat it," but up the hill. No man likes to chase another up hill. In case any reader of this article should go to Montevideo, and would like to know where this particular cafÉ is, I wish to inform him that it is situated at the southwest corner of the streets, Rampla and Alzaibar.

That same night as I was standing on the Plaza Matriz in front of the Hotel Lanata, I was accosted by a very clean-looking gentleman, immaculately dressed in black, wearing spats, and carrying a small cane. I thought it was a case of mistaken identity and was about to pass on, when to my amazement I recognized the doctor. The transformation was complete. He could now pass for a boulevardier while before he had the air of a cutthroat. He informed me that he had rowed back to his ship, changed his attire, and had returned to shore by a motor boat.

The city of Montevideo has about four hundred thousand inhabitants exclusive of suburbs, and stretches over quite an area of land, due to the broad streets and lowness of its houses. It is built around the harbor and also along the Atlantic Ocean which is separated from the harbor by a hill in the shape of a whaleback. At the western end of the harbor is the cerro which marks the mouth of the La Plata and which is the only hill worthy of the name until that of LambarÉ is reached one thousand miles up the river, the landmark for Asuncion. The whaleback is the business part of the city, although the shopping district has now a tendency to spread more eastward. The gradient to the top of the whaleback on which lies the Calle Sarandi, one of the principal streets of the city, is gentle, but yet I have several acquaintances who refused to walk it, preferring to go from the docks to the Plaza Matriz in a taxicab. One of these men is Mr. Oliver H. Lane, formerly of Washington before that city was made "dry," but who, because that calamity befell the National Capital, moved to Boston. One day in December, 1915, he, Packer, and I started from the docks uptown on foot. After we had gone two blocks, Lane planted his back against the wall of a building and said:

"What do you take me for? Do you think I want to walk to Paraguay?"

As there were no taxicabs around, Packer and I were obliged to walk about three-quarters of a mile to the Plaza Matriz to get one to return for Lane, whom we found in the same identical spot with his back still against the wall.

Montevideo ranks according to the tonnage of vessels entering and clearing its harbor as the ninth port in the world, surpassing all South American cities in this respect. Until about fifty years ago, it was the metropolis of the La Plata watershed. About that time Buenos Aires passed it, and to-day the population of the Argentine metropolis is four times larger. Montevideo has a fine harbor; Buenos Aires has none. The Uruguayan back country is richer than the country behind Buenos Aires. Montevideo has a wonderful climate, cool, invigorating, with a fresh breeze always blowing; Buenos Aires has a humid, enervating, somewhat depressing climate. With these natural superiorities, one would think Montevideo would outrank Buenos Aires but not so. Buenos Aires has always had a spirit of progression, which has become contagious and has spread to Rosario, and to Bahia Blanca; Montevideo has always been conservative, entirely wrapped in herself, indifferent to other cities. Uruguay, which is the smallest republic in South America, has an area of only 72,210 square miles, not as large as the province of Buenos Aires alone. Of its population of 1,042,668 inhabitants, one half live within a radius of twenty miles from the center of the city of Montevideo. The difference between Buenos Aires and Montevideo is so great that it is difficult to realize that they are separated only by a night's run of 190 knots.

The topography of the city is a succession of low hills which flank the harbor. They continue to the cerro, seven miles around the semi-circular harbor, and on their sides and summits are built a succession of villages not included in the incorporation limits of Montevideo. On the cerro rise the whitewashed houses of the town of Villa del Cerro, while at its bottom slopes near the La Plata mouth there is a large eucalyptus grove of dark green color, a landmark for many miles at sea.

There was but little building done in Montevideo between the years 1912 and 1916; in fact I could see no change, although I have no doubt but that the population is increasing on a normal scale. The monotony of the appearance of the residential streets is impressing. Each street has the same cobblestone pavement; on each street there are sycamore trees between the pavement and the sidewalk; the houses are mostly the same, one and two stories high, built of the same material and offering absolutely no contrast in architecture, in size, or color to the thousands like them in the Uruguayan metropolis. This same condition must have existed since the Colonial times, because one writer, whose book written about 1830 I recently read, said in his description of Montevideo that on account of the great similarity of the houses and absence of street numbers, drunken men frequently mistook houses of other people for their own and entered them at different times of the day and night causing much embarrassment and confusion.

The residences of the wealthier inhabitants do not have this monotonous uniformity. They are villas, set back from the street in large gardens and lawns, enclosed by low brick walls. In architecture they are light and resemble the houses of the aristocracy of Rio de Janeiro. Compared with the palatial homes of the Buenos Aires millionaires they are inexpensive. The Avenida Agraciada is the main residential street, but the Avenida Brazil in the suburb of Pocitos has many fine homes, some of which are the summer abodes of Argentinos who like to spend the hottest months of the summer by the seashore. The very finest mansion in the city is on the Plaza Zabala, the loafers' park, in the business section on the whaleback, and not far from the docks. It is owned by an Italian who wished to have his residence near to his place of business.

The main shopping streets are Sarandi and Rincon. These are parallel and are but one block apart. The Avenida 18 de Julio, like the Avenida de Mayo in Buenos Aires, is the parade street. It is a beautiful broad avenue about a mile and a half long, and runs eastward from the Plaza Independencia. Seven blocks up it is interrupted in its course by the Plaza Libertad, formerly named Sagancha. It is one of the finest streets in South America. Many of the streets have old Indian names peculiar to the country such as Timbo, Yaro, Tacuarembo, Yaguaron, YÍ, Cuareim, Ibicui, Ituzaingo, Guarani, etc. It is pleasant to see this change in street names after a sojourn in Argentina where in each city the nomenclatures of the streets never vary, with the omnipresent San Martin, TucumÁn, CÓrdoba, Corrientes, La Rioja, and many others.

Montevideo and its suburbs on the ocean are the great bathing resorts of South America and are visited annually by more people than Mar del Plata, the latter place being exclusively for the rich. On account of its proximity to Buenos Aires, it is resorted to daily by great numbers of tourists, who make the night trip across the La Plata River. Pocitos is the most popular bathing resort. The poor natives do their swimming from the rocks on the ocean front near the heart of the city. They are invariably garbed À la Adam, and are visible by all the occupants of the electric tramcars that pass along that shore. The most aristocratic beach in Montevideo is the Playa Ramirez but people do not flock to that section as much for bathing as they do for gambling. Everything goes in Montevideo. The exclusive and expensive Parque Hotel at the Playa Ramirez, the show place of costly raiment, and of sparkling gems which embellish the figures of their wearers, has in connection the finest gambling house in America, roulette and baccarat being the attractions. The Parque Hotel, which was formerly under the management of a naturalized United States citizen, Edward Aveglio, is now under the same management as the Palace Hotel in Buenos Aires, and is considered to be one of the best seashore hotels in South America. It is patronized largely by Argentine aristocracy.

The gambling establishment, probably after those of Monte Carlo and San Sebastian the most luxurious edifice of its kind in existence, opens at 5 P.M. and closes at 7.30 P.M. It reopens at 9 P.M. and closes at 2 A.M. A fee of one peso ($1.04) is charged to enter. One peso is the lowest permissible play on any single number at roulette and one hundred pesos is the highest. Unlike the Argentine roulette wheels which have a 0 and a 00, this one has but a single zero which gives the player (or rather the victim) one nineteenth of a better show to win, if successful.

The same class of crowd that graces most European casinos is seen here at its zenith. There is present the nervous individual, who wants the public to think he has a system. To make them believe it, he pretends to study a chart and makes pencil notations. When he loses, he mutters an unintelligible exclamation. There also grace the scene fat dowagers with paste diamond necklaces. Some women who have wasted their allowance on bridge and poker, and are now in the clutches of the moneylender, come here to attempt to retrieve their fortune on one final coup, in most cases their swan song. Bankers, diplomats, millionaires, and cabinet officers from Buenos Aires, a president of one of the Latin republics are to be seen. Young fops are in evidence, not to play, but to ogle the raft of glorious girls always to be found in propinquity to tables of chance.

The casino does a great bar business in champagne cocktails to the tune of forty-one cents a glass. This champagne cocktail, regardless of its high price, seems to be one of the favorite strong drinks there. The soft drink that tickles the palate of the Montevideanos is a nauseating concoction named palta. It is made of orange juice, pineapple juice, sugar, and the yolk of an egg; to it is added siphon water. It is then stirred, and served in a large goblet. I tried some of it as an experiment and am sorry that I did not stick to beer, for the egg that the mixologist used in my palta was rotten. In R. Bibondo's Brazilian coffee house on Suipacha Street in Buenos Aires, I once received a piece of cake in whose making a rotten egg was likewise used.

Although the Grand Hotel Lanata cannot be called first-class in any respect, excepting the restaurant which is the best in the city, it is far better for the unaccompanied male visitor to stop there than at the Parque, on account of its central location. It takes twenty minutes by electric car to reach the Parque from the Plaza Independencia. It costs $1.20 to reach it by taxicab. The Grand Hotel Lanata of Ximines and Santamarina is in the central part of the city on the Plaza Constitucion (formerly called the Plaza Matriz) and is convenient for shoppers and sightseers. The Oriental near the docks is a good hotel, but the glass-roofed parlor and lobby is malodorous from poor ventilation. Other good hotels are the Colon, Barcelona, and Florida Palace. Regarding the last-mentioned place, I must state that its proprietor is a Brazilian who does not draw the color line as to his clientele.

Worthy of interest are the cathedral, the Solis theatre, the central market, the colonnaded buildings on the Plaza Independencia, the new university, the central cemetery, and the Uruguaya brewery.

The cathedral is a twin-towered and domed majestic structure on the Plaza Constitucion with an elaborately decorated chapel. Four golden suns (the sun is the emblem of Uruguay) are painted on an azure background on the wall beneath the dome. The rays of the natural sun above, penetrating the yellow and blue skylights of the dome, cast weird and ghostly lights in the interior.

The Uruguaya brewery is on the Calle Yatai, to the west of the center of the city, but nearly two miles from the downtown business section. It is best reached by electric tramcar. The reason for a visit to it is the large beer hall like the Hofbrauhaus in Munich, and whose replica is to be found nowhere else in the Western Hemisphere. There are large bare tables, with chairs and benches. The visitor sits at one of these. He need not give an order for no sooner is he seated than a full schuper of foaming elixir is placed in front of him. When he has had enough, he turns his empty mug bottom up, otherwise it is a sign that his thirst has not been quenched and that he is in line for another one, which is immediately set in front of him.

The specialties of Montevideo are the polished agates and stones common to Uruguay. These are found in abundance in the department of Minas, and although expensive are fine souvenirs. No tourist should visit the city without taking some away as they make admirable gifts to friends at home. They are made into paper weights, paper cutters, stamp holders, buttons, etc. The best ones are dark blue; next come the smoky gray. Also beautiful, but cheaper, are the brick red ones, and those that are a combination of black and white.

A beautiful pink lily graces the lawns of the Avenida Agraciada. In shape it is like our common orange red milk lily but unlike the milk lily which grows in racemose clusters on a single stalk this Uruguayan lily has but one blossom. It is hardy and should thrive in the United States.

A gastronomic delicacy of Montevideo is the lobster which is caught on the Uruguayan littoral, and which is seldom to be procured in Buenos Aires restaurants.

Montevideo vies with Rio de Janeiro as being one of the cleanest cities in the Western Hemisphere; like Rio de Janeiro, its taxicabs and public automobiles for hire are the best in the Western Hemisphere. The Montevideano drivers are reckless, and one day while out driving in the suburbs in a hired motor car, the chauffeur tried to drive his machine through a narrow place with the result that he drove into a five-mule-power wagon and smashed the left headlight and dented the hood for his pains. Returning by the same road shortly afterwards, he met the same wagon, and angered drove into the mules for revenge. This caused much annoyance as the mule driver, not knowing that the automobile was a public vehicle; believed that it belonged to me and that I had set the chauffeur up to this nefarious trick. The latter, being a cur, stood safely to one side while I and the teamster had the altercation. Although we nearly came to blows on account of the chauffeur's scurvy stunt, the latter never opened his mouth to help me out of the difficulty.

The Uruguayan metropolis is the congregating place of desperadoes, ruffians, and other gentry of similar character from Argentina, and other nations. They loiter about the entrances of the disreputable saloons and sailors' dives and by their drunken actions and foul speech make it impossible for a respectable woman to pass down any of the streets near the docks without an escort. Argentina, glad to be ridden of this class of social outcast, makes no effort to extradite them unless they have committed some major crime. Here in Montevideo, they "raise hell" and scarcely a day goes by without the newspapers mentioning some murder, assault, or burglary that has taken place.

One of these gentry, a Cockney, evidently mistaking me for one of his kind, approached me one day as I sat in front of a cafÉ under the colonnades in the Plaza Independencia, and asked me for a job. He said:

"I ham not a bit particular what kind of a job it be," and drawing near to my ear, he let his voice drop as he spoke: "I hax no questions. If there be hanybody you'd like to put out of the way, Hi'm the man to do it."

Not many people traveling between Montevideo and Buenos Aires ever think of making the trip otherwise than on one of the palatial steamers of the Mihanovich Line which ply between the two ports in a night's run. The luxurious steamers Ciudad de Buenos Aires and the Ciudad de Montevideo, and the smaller but admirable Londres and Lisboa, are in the height of the season jammed with passengers nearly to overcrowding. Tired of gazing upon the sluggish and muddy La Plata River and eager to see the Uruguayan landscape, I decided to make the trip by rail as far as Colonia and thence make the twenty-five mile crossing to Buenos Aires on one of the smaller boats.

Colonia, capital of the department of the same name, is 153 miles distant by rail from Montevideo. Trains run thrice a week only, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, making the return trip the next day, and their running time is seven hours and fifteen minutes, the speed including stops being slightly over twenty-one miles an hour.

I left Montevideo on the Central Railroad one morning at 6.15 A.M., and thirty-five minutes later entered the department of Canelones at the large village of Las Piedras. The landscape during that short distance and even as far as 25 de Agosto, where the department of San JosÉ is entered was a monotonous succession of low rolling hills, with low, long red brick and whitewashed estancia buildings set back from the country roads, at the edge of eucalyptus and pepperberry groves. Herds of fat cattle and sheep browsed in the pastures tended by shepherd boys with long-haired dogs. Between Las Piedras and 25 de Agosto a small city was passed. Its name is Canelones and was formerly called Guadelupe. It is the capital of Canelones and lies to east of the railroad between it and a river named the Canelon Chico. The rivers, Canelon Grande and Canelon Chico give the name to the province.

25 de Agosto is nothing but a railroad junction with some repair shops. The main line of the Central Railroad runs north to the Brazilian frontier at Rivera, and is here joined by the branch that goes westward to Colonia. The department of San JosÉ which is now entered, presents a different aspect than Canelones for the trees which had hitherto been present in abundance around the estancias, had now disappeared. The country had become more rolling, and to the westward a low range of hills appeared on the horizon. As far as the eye could see, a canopy of yellow dried prairie grasses bedecked the parched and blistered soil, sweltering beneath the scorching rays of the hot February sun. All over this seething landscape, roamed at will, half wild cattle, long and gaunt. It is as much as a man's life is worth to venture on foot amidst a herd of these Uruguayan cattle. They seldom attack a horseman, knowing that he has them at an advantage, but the foot traveler should be wary, for the quadrupeds know the tables are turned, and will charge and gore him to death on sight. Birds of the genus Struthio, spoken of as ostriches, but which in reality belong to the branch named cassowaries, as they have three toes instead of two like the ostrich, and no tufted tail feathers like the latter, mingle with these nomadic cattle; so does the timid deer, unafraid and on terms of comradery, for it is only against man that these beasts have animosity.

The city of San JosÉ, one of the largest in Uruguay, whose population I imagine is about fifteen thousand inhabitants, is reached at 9.11 A.M. It is pleasantly situated on a river of the same name at the base of some high hills, which rise at the west of the city. The town itself is intersected by the railroad which in a Uruguayan city is unusual as most are generally at quite a distance therefrom. At Mal Abrigo, which is reached about an hour after leaving San JosÉ, the railroad branches out again, the other one going to Mercedes, a pleasant city on the Rio Negro, and the capital of the department of Soriano. Continuing on the Colonia line, we enter the department of Colonia and keep on till we reach a small place named Rosario which is the junction for another branch line to a La Plata port named Puerto del Sauce. Colonia is reached at 1.30 P.M. Connection is made with small boats of the Mihanovich Line which sail one hour later, making the crossing to Buenos Aires in three hours to the tune of $2.89.

Colonia is a fine little town with about eight thousand inhabitants lying directly across the La Plata River from Buenos Aires from which city I imagine it to be about twenty-five miles distant. It is cool, with a fresh breeze generally blowing and, owing to this, is much visited by the inhabitants of the Argentine metropolis as a health and summer resort. It has two good hotels, the Esperanza and the Ruso. Besides the boats that ply daily between Buenos Aires and Colonia, there are excursion steamers Sundays; also those that make nightly trips returning at an early hour of the morning. The reason for this last mentioned service is that in Uruguay gambling is permitted, and at San Carlos, near Colonia and reached by a narrow gauge railway, is another casino where the click of the ball as it revolves on the disk of the roulette wheel disturbs the nocturnal air.

My friend Packer had an obsession for this kind of pastime, and many were the nightly visits he made to San Carlos. On one of these trips, while watching the game in the casino, an Englishman had made a considerable winning, but owing to his inability to converse in the Spanish language, the croupiers were endeavoring to cheat him out of his winnings. He appealed to Packer, who helped him out and got his money for him. On the trip back to Buenos Aires that same night, he and Packer were seated opposite to one another in the dining-room. Packer tried to enter into conversation with him. The Englishman puckered up his lips and said: "I no speeka Engleesh." He deserved to be thrashed. It is a very common occurrence in most countries of South America, especially in Argentina for Englishmen to try to hide their nationality and pass off as a native. Why they do this odious act, I do not know, but any foreigner no matter how ignorant he is, can always spot an Englishman by his mispronunciation of the language he is trying to hide himself under.

A syndicate was formed with $800,000 capital to start a bull ring at San Carlos. It would have undoubtedly been a great money-making transaction drawing innumerable people from Buenos Aires, but the socialistic government of the Banda Oriental, as Uruguay is frequently spoken of, very wisely put a ban on this cruel sport.