Buenos Aires which should have been named Malos Aires, on account of the enervating, depressing humidity of its summer climate when the thermometer sometimes registers as high as 104° Fahrenheit, and when not a breath of air is stirring, is a city of nearly 1,750,000 inhabitants and rivals Philadelphia towards being the third in population in the New World. This capital of Argentina, built upon the west bank of the muddy La Plata River in latitude 34° south is the entrepÔt and distributing point for all merchandise and goods that enters and leaves the vast territory which comprises the La Plata system and in fact of all southern South America east of the Andes. It is a city of marble statues, of elegant public buildings, of sumptuous palaces, of parks and boulevards, and is often spoken of as the "Athens of America." It is also a city of narrow streets, of conventillos (poorer class tenements) teeming with Hebraic and Sicilian life, of confidence men, lottery ticket vendors, Greek and Syrian peddlers, fugitives from North American justice, bewhiskered Irish bums, and Galician Jews reeking of garlic, adorned with corkscrew sideburns. Down its avenues parade the same sort of crowd seen in Naples, also the pompous banker, the bespatted fop with slender cane, the staid business man, the artizan, beggars galore, and a galaxy of prostitutes, both Iberian and criolla.

The most remarkable thing about Buenos Aires is how fast one can get rid of one's money with so little received for it in return. Everything costs half as much again as what it should, with the possible exception of clothes and shoes. Meals, hotel rooms, beverages, lingerie, photographic material, drugs, theater admissions, and in fact nearly everything under the sun is sky high. The entertainments for a stranger to indulge in are but few and mediocre. It is every day the same routine after the first week of novelty of sight-seeing has worn off. Unless in Buenos Aires on business, the stranger absolutely kills time unprofitably by getting into a rut from which he does not extricate himself until it is time for him to sail for home. He finds himself two or three times a day at the same table in front of the same cafÉ, watching the same people promenade by, the only variation being an occasional visit to a burlesque show, the race track, the post office, or to the zoÖlogical garden.

In a previous book, I stated that the sycamore trees on the Avenida de Mayo were sickly and did not think that they would live. I first saw them in January, 1913. In December, 1915, when I again beheld them, I was astonished at their appearance. They were a third again as large, and they begin to show prospects of becoming elegant shade trees. The subway was completed in 1914. It begins at the Plaza de Mayo, on which square the Casa Rosada, or Capitol, faces, and continues underneath the Avenida de Mayo to the mile-distant Congress Building, thence underneath the next parallel street to the north, Rivadavia, the bisecting thoroughfare of the city, to the Once railroad station, the terminus of the Western Railway. An extension runs three miles farther to a section of the city named Caballito. Caballito is the name that the NaÓn estancia went by years ago before the city grew up. The part of the city where the estancia once stood still retains the name. Compared to subways in other cities, this one of Buenos Aires is poorly patronized. It resembles the Budapest subway, more than it does the New York or Boston ones, and its cars make but little better speed than do those in the Budapest tube. Cab fare and taxicabs are cheap, which are undoubtedly some of the primal causes of the subway's not excessive patronage.

After his first few days in Buenos Aires, when the novelty of a strange city had worn off, a friend and brother Elk, Mr. Oliver H. Lane, remarked to me:

"Buenos Aires looks to me just like a big Italian city. Her Avenida de Mayo, however, is a poor imitation of the Parisian boulevards."

In the first respect, I agree with him. The architecture of the buildings, the attire of the male inhabitants, the way the moustaches are trimmed, the cafÉs, the toscanos, the wax matches, the lottery tickets, the dirty paper money, the confectionery stores, the ice creams, and the beggars all savor of the Lavinian shores. In the second respect I cannot agree with him. The Avenida de Mayo is physically somewhat similar to the Parisian boulevards, but in character it is widely different. If it is supposed to ape them, it is then a poor imitation, but so different is it in most respects, that as a first impression I would only call it a physical imitation. The oftener and the longer one sits in front of the cafÉs and watches the people pass by, the further apart he draws the comparison of this street to any street in the world. I would designate the Avenida de Mayo as original. The buildings that flank it are much taller than those of Paris; the street is also considerably narrower than those in the French capital; the crowd that parade the sidewalks is also not the same.

Rivadavia is the street which runs at right angles to the La Plata River, and continuing westward into the country, divides the city into two parts, its intersectors having different nomenclatures south of it than they have north. For instance, a cross street has the name Santiago del Estero south of it, and Talcahuano north of it: another is named Piedras south of it, and Esmeralda north of it, etc. In the old section of Buenos Aires, where the buildings are almost entirely given up to wholesale and retail trade, the streets are exceedingly narrow. A decade and a half ago, in order to give the people a breathing space, and to relieve the congestion of traffic in this part of the city, houses one half a block south of Rivadavia were torn down, and the Avenida 25 de Mayo was put through. It starts at the Plaza de Mayo on which is the Capitol, and ends at the Plaza Congreso, on which is the new white marble Congress Building, the finest and most expensive building in all South America. The length of this boulevard is about one mile.

Architecturally the exterior and faÇades of the Buenos Aires buildings are as fine as any in the world; the style of architecture predominating is original, but the contagion has spread, and the new structures of Montevideo, Rosario, and Mar del Plata have copied the ornate and domed style that is preËminently Bonaerense. In order to compare the architecture of Buenos Aires to that of another city, let us choose Paris or Vienna because the Argentine capital is a city that is fundamentally European. Although more beautiful in buildings than either Paris or Vienna, it can hold no comparison to them in the massiveness and solidity of the edifices in either of them. Nearly all the buildings in Argentina are built of the poorest imaginable brick, loosely fitted together, but little mortar having been used. To these is given a coating of plaster, which on the faÇades is worked into ornaments. On account of the climatic effects on the cheap material, these buildings in a few years' time take on a weather-beaten appearance. On account of the poor foundations on a muddy soil, many structures sink after a few years.

With the exception of the modern steel and trussed concrete edifices, the old patriarchal houses of the colonial times and days of the early republic are the best built. Hundreds of these are to be seen to-day on the side streets. They have marble-paved, glass-roofed patios onto which open the doors of the parlor, dining room, and living rooms. These rooms are likewise dependent on the patio for their light. Behind the first patio is generally a second one, open to the sky, but on rainy and on sunny days decked with an awning. Here sit the family in their leisure hours; from this patio open the doors to the bedrooms. A small garden is invariably at the rear; the kitchen and servants' quarters are in its proximity. The handsome villas and private residences of the wealthy inhabitants differ but little in architecture from the same class of buildings the whole world over. It must not be imagined that because the material and construction are poor that they are cheap. They cost nearly double to build what their duplicates would be in the United States. Brick, stone, iron, sand, lime, and lumber are much more expensive than at home.

The cost of living in Buenos Aires is higher than in New York, with the exception of some articles I have already named. The hotel rates are, however, cheaper. On the Avenida de Mayo, Calle Florida, and Calle Callao, the show streets, one is obliged to pay Fifth Avenue prices for articles purchased; on the side streets the same goods are much cheaper. The average native does not patronize the show places. At any of the Avenida de Mayo cafÉs, a small cordial glass of Benedictine costs twenty-one cents. At one of the side-street almazens (grocery stores), which have a dispensary, the same glass costs nine and one half cents. A pint of Guinness' stout at the Hotel Savoy costs sixty cents; at the Avenida de Mayo cafÉs it sells for forty-three cents, while in the almazens it can be bought for twenty-six cents.

Regarding hotels, Buenos Aires has some very fine ones. Most have table d'hÔte service, which in Argentina is taken in preference to meals À la carte, for most of the guests take their rooms en pension unless they intend to make a short stay only.

The Plaza Hotel, which is the best known and widest advertised, is operated by the Ritz-Carlton Company. It was built by the banker Ernesto Tornquist and leased to them. It is nine stories high, and cost nine million pesos ($3,843,000.00). Its rates are excessive for the service rendered. The rooms are small, its location is not central, and there is nothing to it that gives it the tone of comfort to be had at the other hotels, although the cuisine cannot be improved upon. Imagine paying twenty-five dollars a day for a small room with bath and vestibule, lunch and dinner, but not including breakfast. The Plaza is in much demand for private balls and teas, and is also much patronized by North American commercial travelers who wish to make a splurge, and impress their prospective customers with their own importance, or with the importance of the firm which they represent. An incident that happened in connection with this hotel should be mentioned.

When NaÓn, the Argentine ex-ambassador to the United States, on a recent trip home wrote to his family asking them to get suitable apartments for him, his sister had a talk with the manager of the Plaza Hotel. The latter, seeing a chance for a hold-up, told her that NaÓn could have a certain apartment for five thousand pesos ($2135.00) a month. This figures out $71.17 a day. NaÓn refused to consider the matter and engaged a much better suite at the Hotel Majestic at a much cheaper rate. A month or so afterwards, while attending a reception at the Plaza extended to him by the American Universities Club, the manager servilely approached him, and asked him where he was staying. Upon NaÓn answering that he was stopping at the Majestic, the manager spoke deprecatorily of the last-mentioned hostelry, and told him he would do much better for him at a lesser price at the Plaza. NaÓn said that he should have done so in the first place, but on account of his trying to hold him up, he would not stop at the Plaza if he should put the whole hotel at his disposal free of charge.

The two best hotels in Buenos Aires, to my notion, are the Majestic and the Grand.

The Majestic is on the Avenida de Mayo, at the northwest corner of Calle Santiago del Estero, which is but two blocks from the Plaza Congreso. It was opened in 1910 at the time of the Argentine Centennial. It was rented that year by the government to house the foreign diplomats attending the celebration. The prices are reasonable; the rooms all have baths, and most of them are suites with parlors. The meals are table d'hÔte and the food and service are excellent. The building is seven stories high, has a roof garden, and a corner tower. The parlors and writing room are on the third floor and are lighted from a skylight at the top of the five-story courtyard of pillared balconies. The Majestic is the residence of many foreign ministers and their families; of people of wealth and culture; and of the commercial representatives of the best European firms. It is no show place, but a hotel of quiet refinement.

The Grand Hotel, good but expensive, is on the main shopping street, the narrow Calle Florida, one block north of the Avenida de Mayo in a very noisy part of the city. The narrowness of the streets makes the rooms dark. The Palace Hotel, a large establishment on the Calle 25 de Mayo, is well spoken of. It overlooks the Paseo de Julio and a beautiful park at the river's edge, but the class of people and stores always to be found in the neighborhood of the docks makes the location poor. Among the older of the modern hotels which are also good are the Paris, with a large restaurant and cafÉ, the Cecil, the Splendid, and the Esclava. The EspaÑa, patronized by Spaniards, is a lively and excellent place with an À la carte dining room. It is a good place for the single man to stop at; also the Galileo and the Colon are first class, clean, and have good restaurants. The Colon is owned by the Gontaretti brothers, who are likewise proprietors of the Hotel Regina at Mar del Plata. It has in connection the best confectionery store in Buenos Aires, that of Dos Chinos.

Of all the Buenos Aires hotels, the biggest fake is the Savoy, which is owned by the da Rossi Company. It is on the southeast corner of the streets Callao and Cangallo, but two blocks from the Plaza Congreso. It was opened in 1913, at which time the current talk was that the district in which it is situated was going to be the best in the city. The prices are exorbitant, the food is poor, and the rooms are dirty. As in all the large Buenos Aires hotels, the prices here are made for the guest according to the financial judgment the scrutinizing manager passes on him. The waiters in the Savoy are veritable robbers, and there are two prices for drinks, and for the use of the billiard table, the North Americans having the benefit in being obliged to pay the highest of the two prices. They tried to "put one over" on "yours truly" on the price of wet goods one day when the writer was playing pool with some friends. The waiters had evidently forgotten that they had sold me a couple of bottles of Guinness' stout the day previous at a reduction of forty centavos (17 c.) a bottle under the price they now anticipated that I would pay. An argument followed in which I won out, but only after I had threatened them with a cessation of visits in case they insisted on making me pay the excess tax that they had imposed upon me.

The Bonaerense restaurants are usually connected with the hotels, although there are many that are not. Among the best of the latter are the Rotisserie Sportsman, Charpentier's, and the Petit Jardin. Aue's Keller, the Kaiserhalle recently opened by the employees of Aue's Keller, and the Bismarck are German restaurants and beer halls. There are many Italian restaurants, that of Paccatini on Calle Moreno a few doors east of Calle Piedras being quite popular.

The cafÉs are excelled by none in the world either in size or in the expense of their equipment. Life in them is not as animated as in those of Vienna, Budapest, or Paris, and they close about 1.00 A.M. They are not patronized much by women, nor do they display moving pictures on their walls as in Rosario. They are solely rendezvous for people who enter them to talk or drink; many have antiquated billiard tables. Among the best are the cafÉs Paris, Colon, and Tortoni, all on the Avenida de Mayo.

As the Argentinos are not as a rule solely addicted to the frequent imbibing of strong drinks, soft drinks such as refrescos, lemonade, beer, coffee, and tea play an important rÔle in the dispensing of liquid refreshment at cafÉs. The average Argentino suffers from gastric, digestive, and intestinal ailments, not so much from overeating alone as from his utter inability to use discretion in drinking. For breakfast he will have coffee; before lunch he will drink a couple of vermouths with bitters, which he designates as an appetizer. (His favorite bitter is a sickening, sweetish syrupy liquor of Buenos Aires manufacture named Aperital.) At lunch he will either consume a pint of wine or a quart of beer, to be followed by a postprandial cup of strong coffee and a liqueur. In the afternoon, he will imbibe a bottle of mineral water and two cups of tea. The dinner beverages, the same as at luncheon, consist of beer or wine, coffee and cordial. After dinner, which is eaten at half-past seven or at eight o'clock, he feels "filled up" on food and liquid and has no immediate desire for alcoholic refreshment. He now prefers to sit in front of a cafÉ and watch the crowd pass by, but he would look out of place occupying a seat without paying for anything, so he orders a dish of ice cream and a refresco. A refresco is a syrup either of currant, strawberry, raspberry, or grenadine flavoring, covering an inch in the bottom of a tall glass, to which is added either plain or soda water and cracked ice. An hour after partaking of this, he orders a whiskey and soda followed by a duplicate or a triplicate, unless he switches to beer. He caps the whole mess off by a cup of strong coffee.

The PorteÑo (so is called the inhabitant of Buenos Aires, and which means Resident of the Port) is also a heavy eater. For luncheon and for dinner, he is apt to eat seven courses, four of which are meat and fish, and it makes no difference to him if the fish comes after the meat or before it. The dinner tables of the private houses have white slates on which is written with a black lead pencil the names of the dishes in the different courses as at a table d'hÔte in a hotel. In this way it leaves no surprise nor conjecture as to which the next course will be. MatÉ is passed around in the afternoon. This vile tea, brewed from yerba matÉ, an herb indigenous to Paraguay, the southern states of Brazil, and the Argentine Territory of Misiones, is poured into a gourd and is drunk through a metal tube with a spoonlike head, closed and perforated with little round holes, named a bombillo. But one person drinks matÉ at the same time. When he finishes this "slop" the servant takes both gourd and bombillo away from him and fills the former for the person sitting next to him. Two rounds of it are generally partaken of. This matÉ drinking, although said to be absolutely harmless, is such a habit with the native women of the poorer classes that they prefer it to a husband. At TucumÁn, while I was there, three such wenches got into a fight and one had her ear bitten off. While at the police station she started wailing; the police thinking she was howling about the pain tried to soothe her. It transpired that she was wailing because she left some matÉ boiling on the stove at her home and nobody was left there to tend to it.

The CafÉ Tortoni is on the north side of the Avenida de Mayo between the streets Piedras and Tacuari. It extends back to Rivadavia. It is the oldest cafÉ in Buenos Aires and is owned by a nonagenarian Frenchman, Monsieur Curutchet, who is on the job morning and night and is still active, although the management of the establishment is in the hands of his son, M. Maurice Curutchet. It was in front of this cafÉ that my acquaintances came at least twice a day, and from a marble-topped iron table beneath the street awning we observed Bonaerense life to great advantage as it paraded by. We soon became so accustomed to the different passers-by, many of whom went by at the same time each day, that we soon knew the vocations of many of the folk that were but atoms in the large population of the great city.

There was a subway exit but a couple of rods from our table, and it was astonishing to see how people when they had reached the top step would stop and pant. It was not a deep subway, but so physically poor is the average PorteÑo of the middle classes on account of abuse of living that he soon becomes exhausted. He does not live long, and many men of forty are like men at home of sixty. The crowd that continually passes does so with quick step, neither looking to the left nor to the right, but straight ahead, serious and never smiling. I noticed this and remarked to an acquaintance about it.

"They are evidently thinking," said he, "of how they can swindle somebody out of ten cents."

The PorteÑos appear to be a sad folk, and if one sees somebody smile or hears a sound of laughter on a Buenos Aires street, you may be sure that an Italian or a Spaniard is present. Latins from Europe that come to Argentina soon become like natives, depressed, excitable, and despondent. Many Argentinos of the cities wear black straw hats instead of white ones, which still further enhances the funereal appearance of the men. This is a sign of mourning, similar to the black arm bands that were in fashion in the United States a decade ago. I know a Philadelphia jackanapes who wanted to follow the custom of Buenos Aires, and seeing the great number of men wearing black hats, bought one not knowing that it was a token of respect for the departed relatives. He returned to his country evidently never knowing his mistake.

The beggars, street fakirs, and peddlers on the Avenida de Mayo are terrible. No city in the world has so many. Neither Naples nor Las Palmas can compare with Buenos Aires in proportion in this respect. A man seated at a table in front of a cafÉ is never free a minute from annoyance from this rabble. Children from five years old up to octogenarians of both sexes systematically make multi-diurnal rounds up to the different cafÉs. Some are insulting. A narrow shouldered young man, a mixture of degenerate and of cigarette fiend, came to a table where I was seated and offered some chewing gum for sale. Upon my refusal to buy any, he backed up a few steps, started calling me names, and then walked away. A few hours later I met him accidentally; he wilted when he saw there was no escape. I grabbed him by the coat collar and nearly shook the eye teeth out of him. I at least put the fear of God into him.

The street urchins have a habit of making the rounds of the different tables and if you are not watching, steal the cracked ice from the dish in which it is kept in front of you to put into your glass of refresco, according to your desire. I caught one such boy doing this trick to me, and slung the contents of a water pitcher at him which caught him squarely, giving him a drenching. Near by was seated a well-dressed Argentino who took the boy's part, and started to call the police. As a foreigner, especially a North American, has no rights in Argentina, I thought it best to walk away.

There are milk depots stationed at various parts of the city and along the Avenida where a person may enter and for ten centavos (.042) buy a liter of milk either fresh or cooked. These belong to La Martona and other companies. Two ragamuffins one night entered the milk depot at the northeast corner of the Avenida de Mayo and Calle San JosÉ and begged some cracked ice from the waiter behind the counter. Upon his refusal to comply with his request one of the boys expectorated in a gallon jar of fresh milk that stood at one end of the counter, and which was for sale to prospective customers, and then ran out. Do you think the man behind the counter threw the milk out? I should say not. He merely took a large spoon, skimmed off the expectoration, and went about his business as if nothing had happened. I sat in a chair and watched three other customers, who came in later, be served from the same jar.

The lottery ticket sellers are the greatest nuisance. They used to annoy Mr. Lane something fierce. Packer, a man named Brown, and I noticed it so we put up several jobs on him.

There was a legless man who made the rounds of the cafÉs, being wheeled from place to place in a perambulator by an individual who might easily as to appearance be associated with the Black Hand. The cripple who was a middle aged, unkempt ruffian had a multitude of lottery tickets for sale, and was so persistent that he would absolutely refuse to go away until he had displayed all his wares. He seemed to take particular delight in tormenting persons who were anxious to have him move on. A few seconds before he was ready to be wheeled away, he would open up a torrent of abuse upon the person who refused to buy from him, and in this propaganda he was ably seconded by his comrade of Black Hand mien. Mr. Lane was of a nervous disposition and I do not believe the Canadian Club highballs he occasionally indulged in were any amelioration to this condition. He therefore was considerably annoyed with this particular persistent vagabond and his equally villainous confrÈre. They "got on his nerves." We, noticing his odium for this duo, one day when Mr. Lane was absent, hired the two vagabonds to come to him every time they saw him seated in front of the Tortoni and refuse to leave until ordered to do so by the police or the waiters. A few days afterwards while walking along the Avenida, I saw Mr. Lane seated in front of the CafÉ Madrid, which is a block from the Tortoni.

"What are you doing over here?" I asked.

"The Tortoni is getting too much for me; I never saw so many vagabonds in my life as there, so I changed places. The service and the goods are no good here; I've tried this place three days and can't stand it. I prefer the Tortoni but if that legless hobo ever tries to sell me a lottery ticket again, I am going to tip him out of his perambulator into the street even if I hang for it. I believe I shall hire the waiters at the Tortoni to give all the street peddlers a thrashing."

Mr. Lane did so. The waiters cuffed up several of the human pests, and the policemen arrested a few others, so for about a week everybody was free from molestation by the riffraff. Then they gradually came back to their usual haunts.

There was a woman who continually made the rounds soliciting alms by showing the bare stump of an arm severed about six inches from the shoulder. This harridan would take delight in walking between the tables of the restaurants while people were at dinner and expose this gruesome sight spoiling appetites.

Another nuisance was a woman about thirty-five years old who had once been comely. She sold lottery tickets and was also terribly persistent. She carried in her arms a baby while a young child clung to her skirt. Although this woman was a nuisance, I never thought her to be disagreeable, but for some reason Mr. Lane took an aversion for her which could be classified in the same category as the detest he had for the legless ruffian. One day while being pestered by this woman, he made a grab at her tickets, crumpled them up and slung the whole outfit in the street. He was sorry for it afterwards and gave her a peso to ease her. The next day, while Mr. Lane was absent, one of our associates called the woman aside and gave her two pesos if she would continue to display her lottery tickets to Mr. Lane. She accepted the proposition and did so much to his annoyance. This woman had for a husband a whiskered Irish bum. He would come several times a day to the subway entrance and make her hand over the proceeds of her sales to him. He had a staff of women selling tickets and his sole occupation was to make the rounds collecting money from them.

There are many Irish bums in Buenos Aires, men past middle life who years ago became stranded in Argentina having deserted sailing vessels and who have never had the price nor the desire to return to the Old Country. They are strong, powerful men physically, unkempt with long beards; their clothes are a mass of rags and teem with vermin. Their daily occupation is to walk along the Avenida begging alms which goes for strong drink. At night they sleep in the doorways and in the gutter. One such man made his rounds on the Avenida about nine o'clock every night. Every time he passed our table at the Tortoni, Mr. Packer would give him some money, on one occasion the sum being a peso. As the man had begged in Spanish, we did not know his nationality until a certain incident happened. One particular night, Mr. Packer was without funds when this hobo came around, and told him so. The bum sarcastically imitated Packer and then broke out into such a tirade of profane and obscene invectives and abuse in the English language, but with a strong brogue, that I am afraid the apostles turned over in their graves.

The policemen of Buenos Aires are efficient. They are mostly of Indian descent and come from the far provinces. They seldom make an arrest for misdemeanors for there are but few street quarrels when compared to the cities of the United States. They occasionally disperse a bunch of young beggars who return to their posts as soon as the "cop" has vanished. At night they make the drunken bums vacate the street benches whither they have repaired to sleep off the fumes of Geneva gin, which in Spanish goes by the name of ginevra. Quite a few incidents happen in the lives of the Bonaerense police, of which here are a couple:

On the Calle Peru there is an old policeman, beloved by nearly everybody. The storekeepers in the neighborhood of which he is the guardian of the peace hold him in such high esteem that at every Christmas they take up a collection for him. For some unknown reason, a North American named Woody, who represented the Case Implement Company "had it in" for him. Mr. Woody was accustomed to partake of too much John Barleycorn and when in his cups always abused this man in strong profane English. After awhile the old policeman caught on that he was being made the target of abuse which he could not understand, so one day changed beats with a big native Argentino policeman who was of Irish extraction. At evening Mr. Woody came along, as usual, much under the influence of liquor. The fumes of alcohol having dimmed his eyesight, he was oblivious of the shift that had been made. Seeing the policeman, he opened up with his tirade. The Irishman let him continue until Woody was weak from lack of breath and exhausted vocabulary.

"Have yez finished?" the cop then asked him.

Woody astounded at hearing the policeman thus address him, stammered an affirmative.

"Then, by Jaysus, come with me!"

Mr. Woody spent the next eight days in jail until his friends learned of his predicament and bailed him out.

The other incident is this:

One of my friends was seated one evening in front of the Tortoni when a policeman approached him and asked him in Spanish if he spoke English. My friend answered in the affirmative and the policeman told him to wait there a minute and walked away. Presently the guardian of the law reappeared with a young Englishman who could speak no word of Spanish. He said he was a sailor from a boat that sailed that midnight and becoming lost did not know how to get to it. He came on an electric car to the Avenida de Mayo and all that he knew about the line was that it bore a board on which was printed the name "Cinzano." Now this is the name of a vermouth which is widely advertised in Argentina, and he mistook the vermouth sign for the name of the street. After considerable difficulty, his ship was located.

One afternoon, while walking down the Avenida with Mr. Atwood Benton of Antofagasta, Chile, we saw a crowd collected and on passing by noticed that a grown man was slapping a little girl and dragging her around by the hair. Not a man in the crowd had made any attempt to prevent this outrageous scene, but all stood by with smiles of mirth on their faces. Mr. Benton made a rush through them and grabbing the man by the nape of the neck gave him a sound beating and held him while I called a policeman. When the rabble saw what Benton did, they raised an earsplitting cheer of "bravo" for him, yet none of the cowardly bunch dared interfere for fear of a poignard stab. A newspaper reporter chanced by, shook Mr. Benton by the hand, congratulated him upon his bravery, and asked him for his card as he wished to put it in his newspaper next day. Mr. Benton put his hand in his pocket and extended him a card which he thought was his own, but when the newspaper article came out in the La Nacion the next day, it happened that Benton had made a mistake and had handed the reporter a card of Mr. Percival O'Reilley of Concepcion, Chile.

With the exception of the policemen, one sees but comparatively few mestizos or people of mixed white and Indian blood in Buenos Aires, when compared to the inhabitants of other Argentine cities, yet there are plenty, many being in the employ of the government. Dark complexions are not as popular in Argentina as light ones; therefore many of the criollos or natives whose facial characteristics are those of the original inhabitants of the land, beseech the photographers to put chemicals on the plates so as to make their visages come out light in the photograph. The descendants of Indians are called Indios; negroes are called Negros and Chinamen, Chinos. Many of the mestizos are nicknamed Chinos. All these words are terms of approbation and it is funny to hear an enraged descendant of an Indian call a white person an Indio or a Chino.

There is in Buenos Aires a fine opera house, the Colon, and there are many other theaters, but the most patronized by the male public are the burlesque shows, the Casino and the Royal. The attraction for the men in those places are the "pick ups" that abound in the foyer, making these music halls clearing houses for loose moral femininity. There is no more vice in Buenos Aires than in any other large city, but there is a peculiar system in vogue there which is original.

A woman passes down the Avenida with a basket of flowers on her arm. She approaches the boulevardier seated at a table and offers to sell him a flower. He buys one and as he stretches out his hand to pay her, she slips him a card bearing the address of a brothel but refuses the money. These women are the hirelings of the brothel proprietresses. Often the dueÑas as these proprietresses are called do the florista act (flower selling). One night, while seated in front of the Tortoni, a famous dueÑa named Carmen came along and pinned a tuberose on an army officer. A minute later, a rival dueÑa named Matilda passed by and seeing the tuberose on him, knew who pinned it there. She tore it off, and pinned on him a carnation. Carmen now returning from a neighboring table saw the trick and a battle royal like between two enraged tigers ensued. When the police put a stop to it, the two dueÑas, scratched up, and with dishevelled hair, were obliged to make for the subway, holding up the remnants of their torn clothing by the middle lest they should drop off.

Among the fine buildings of Buenos Aires are the custom house and the Central Argentine Railway station at Retiro. This mammoth building, not yet completed, is the largest and finest railroad station in South America. This honor was formerly held by the Luz station in SÃo Paulo, Brazil; that of Mapocho in Santiago, Chile, being second. The new Central of CÓrdoba Railway station is also fine.

There are in Buenos Aires but few skyscrapers in the North American sense of the word, a fifteen-story building being the tallest. It is the new arcade on Calle Florida and is the largest in America. It ranks fourth in the world in ground-floor area; those of Milan, Naples, and Genoa being greater. There is a thirteen-story apartment house; the Otto Wulf Building is twelve stories high, and there are probably a dozen other buildings that exceed in height ten stories. There are any number of seven-, eight-, and nine-story buildings.

In Buenos Aires there are a great number of so-called Brazilian coffeehouses where about five o'clock afternoons people repair for coffee and ice cream. Casata ice creams are a favorite. They are a mixture of flavors, and these coffeehouses specialize in two flavors of coffee ice cream in the same brick. The best known of these establishments are those of Huicque and of Bibondo.

The zoÖlogical garden is the finest that I have ever had the pleasure of visiting, as far as the collection of animals is concerned, but the botanical garden is much inferior to that of Rio de Janeiro. Palermo Park, the great corso for automobiles, is well kept up but does not take my fancy on account of the light shades of green common to all trees of the Argentina flatlands. The brilliant and variegated greens of the trees of the province of TucumÁn are lacking.

As to manufacturing, Buenos Aires is nil. There is but one brewery within the city limits, that of Palermo, whose product is vile. There was a so-called automobile factory which bought parts and assembled them, but it had to go out of business. There is not much future for manufacturing unless iron ore is found in paying quantities in Argentina. Without iron and without coal in Argentina, but little can be done although there are several large oil fields in Northern Patagonia. Rosario is a better commercial city than Buenos Aires, but the latter will always keep on growing and retain its lead as the metropolis of South America.

An institution of learning worthy of mention, and which I visited while in the Argentine metropolis is the Colegio Nacional Mariano Moreno. It is located at 3755 Calle Rivadavia, and is one of the best institutions of secondary learning extant. The course comprises six years, the first year corresponding to the ninth grade in North American schools, and the last year being the same as the sophomore year in our universities. It is therefore more like a German gymnasium than a North American high school, although it differs from both in the election of courses. Here no Latin nor ancient languages are taught, but other subjects such as fencing and drawing are substituted. A good rule of the institution which is under the able management of the rector, Dr. Manuel Derqui, grandson of a former president of Argentina, is that no students under fourteen years are allowed to enter, no matter how their preparatory attainments are. This tends to set a better standard to the instruction, although a younger one sometimes manages to slip in. Their age upon graduation is at least twenty. A diploma will give the graduate entrance to any of the Argentine universities of which there are four besides that of Buenos Aires, the others being in La Plata, CÓrdoba, Sante FÉ, and TucumÁn.

What would seem strange to us is that the Mariano Moreno College is a government institution, having no connection at all with the state of municipality. The interior of the building, with its unprepossessing faÇade of four stories belies its external appearance. Its depth is the whole length of the block. It has a swimming tank and baths both for the instructors and students. The whole place is kept remarkably clean. The spirit of competition and advance is very strong among the students. Some of their mechanical drawings, the best ones which are on display on the walls are like the work of experts. A student invented an adjustable and movable drawing board which has been adopted by the drawing classes all through the republic. The department of physics is a marvel, although the chemical laboratory falls short of that of some private schools in the United States, namely that of Hackley School, Tarrytown, N. Y. I was informed, however, that the Mariano Moreno College does not specialize in that science, for those that desire to get a knowledge of chemistry go to the technical schools. A feature of the college is a recreation room for the professors and instructors in the basement. Its walls are hung with pictures painted or drawn by the professors. The enrollment of students is about 1500 exclusive of 700 who are taking a university extension course. The faculty consists of about 150 members.

While speaking about Buenos Aires, a few words must be said about its inhabitants and their habits. The PorteÑos of the higher classes differ but little from those of the same social sphere the whole world over, excepting that they are more effeminate than the inhabitants of our country. Many of the men have perfumed handkerchiefs, and affect the Italian style of moustache. The men of the middle classes, in attire ape the aristocracy, but their habits are infinitely more dirty. With them a bath is an event. When these Argentinos take a bath they splash water around and make a great noise about it so that the people the other side of the partitions can hear them at their ablutions. They also spout and snort and make a great noise every time they wash their faces, especially if anybody is looking. This also applies to certain men who mingle in the highest social circles. I know a man of great prominence in Buenos Aires who every time he took a bath would tell everybody he chanced to meet about it. He met me one day on the street as I was coming out of the Majestic Hotel.

"How are you?" I asked as a customary form of greeting.

"I'm feeling fine," he replied. "I just had a nice cold bath."

A few minutes later as we were walking down the Avenida we met another acquaintance.

"Good morning, SeÑor ——," quoth the third party. "You are looking fine to-day."

"No wonder," answered the first Argentino, "for I have just gotten out of the bath tub."

"How strange, I also have just had a bath."

The habits of the middle and lower classes throughout Argentina are very filthy. Clean toilets are unknown outside of a few of the best hotels and cafÉs of Buenos Aires and a few of the other large cities. In the Hotel Colon in Buenos Aires, two men were hired constantly just to keep the toilet clean and they did this job well.

The men of the lower classes bathe more frequently than those of the upper and middle classes and some are really fine swimmers. These are mostly Italians, Spaniards, and natives who do the work and are the backbone of the Argentine nation as they have not become affected by contact with those of the middle classes.

There are in Buenos Aires many Jews of Galician origin. Their ghetto is on the streets, named Junin, Ayacucho, and OmbÚ, but they are likewise scattered all over the city. Many wear corkscrew sideburns, which they smear with grease and fondle lovingly as they converse with you. These vile Kikes are mostly in the lottery ticket and retail tobacco business. They have native employees whom they send out on the street to hawk lottery tickets on commission. This lottery business is overdone. There are too many drawings. One takes place every week and it is only occasionally that there is a drawing with high enough premiums to make it worth while purchasing them. Lottery is a good institution if properly regulated, but the annoyance that everybody is subjected to in Buenos Aires by the peddlers of the tickets soon makes a person wish that such an institution did not exist. Not only are the tickets of the Benificencia Nacional sold about the streets, but also those of the Province of Buenos Aires which has drawings at La Plata, those of the Province of TucumÁn, those of CÓrdoba, San Juan, and even of Montevideo.

These Buenos Aires Jews are the lowest class of riffraff. Their nasty children peddle strings of garlic from door to door. The adults are always gesticulating and trying to cheat the stranger.

Regarding the morals, the average PorteÑo of the middle class cannot be called immoral. He is unmoral because he never had any morals to begin with. His conversation invariably takes a lascivious turn which shows how his thoughts runs. Seduction, feminine figures, adultery, etc., are his favorite themes of conversation.

Many of the women of Buenos Aires are beautiful. Nowhere have I seen such fine-looking women, excepting in Santiago, Chile, and in Budapest. They carry themselves well and also know how to dress. Their figures and taste are such that they can make the poorest material look well on them. Their average stature is that of our North American women; most of the young PorteÑas are neither fat nor slim, but medium. They have wonderful black eyes and well developed busts. It is rare to see a poor figure. It really is a treat to sit in front of a cafÉ on the Avenida and watch them walk by. There was one beautiful girl that took the fancy of every man that saw her. She worked in an office and every day at noon she would pass the Tortoni; she would repeat this again about five o'clock in the evening. This girl was about nineteen years old and the dainty way she tripped along absolutely unconscious of her grace made the men rave about her. One noon as she walked by bound for home, I followed her a quarter of a block behind her. My intentions were to find out where she lived and try to arrange to get an introduction because she quite fascinated me. I found out that she lived with her parents on Calle Montevideo. I had a friend who lived in the block beyond her in Calle Rodriguez PeÑa, but unfortunately when I called on him to arrange for an introduction, I found out that he was on a business trip to northern Argentina and was not expected back for a month. As I intended leaving in a few weeks, I was doomed to disappointment and had to swallow my chagrin and content myself with gazing at her from the table in front of the Tortoni when she passed by.

The amusements of Buenos Aires are few. Of course there are some very high-class dance halls with restaurants in connection such as Armenonville, but the hours are too late when life begins there.

The race track of the Jockey Club is the best in the world, and races are held every Thursday and Sunday, but one soon gets tired of continually going to the races. The betting is by mutuals. There are some baseball and cricket teams in Buenos Aires which hold matches and games on Sunday afternoons. The players are English, American, and Canadian residents of Buenos Aires who clerk in the banks and in the great importing houses. The article of baseball they put out is ludicrous, and they draw no attendance. A good primary school at home could trim them.

Scene on the River at Tigre