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 20, 1833.
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; and I should think one of the
most regular in the world. (6/10. It is said to contain 60,000
inhabitants. Monte Video, the second town of importance on the
banks of the Plata, has 15,000.) 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.
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