A DAY AT BUENOS AIRES. 161
More than one street — for instance, Calles Paraguay and Defensa — must be crossed by a drawbridge after rains which drown men, and which carry off carts and horses. Before the days of pavements, when the pantanos or muds were filled up with corn or jerked beef, the earth was con- verted by showers into slush, and swept down into the general reservoir, the river bed — hence the sunken ways. The crossings are nowhere swept : being slightly raised above the general level they soon dry and cut up the line into deep puddles which lie long, or into segments and parallelograms of mire. The thoroughfares are macadam- ized with the soil of the suburbs, which cakes under the sun, and crumbles before the wind, dirtying the hands like London smoke. Drainage is left to those Brazilian engi- neers, Messrs. Sun and Wind. The only washing is by rain rushing down the cross streets. There is absolutely no sewerage ; a pit in the patio is dug by way of cesspool, and is filled up with soil, a fair anticipation of the deodo- rizing earth closet. The " basura ^' or sweepings are placed at an early hour in boxes by the doorways to be carried off by the breeze, or to be kicked over by horses driven to water : these offals are used to fill up holes in the road out- side the city, and yet the citizens expect " good airs." Beyond the town, the unpaved lines thus become quagmires, impasses, and quaking bogs where horses and black cattle are hopelessly fixed.
Street walking becomes at Buenos Aires a study, an art. People prepare for it their toe-nails — excuse the subject — I have a duty to perform — like most duties it is "unplea- sant.^^ The centre of the nail is scraped thin, so as to weaken the keystone of the arch : the middle edge is cut into a demilune concave, and the corners, generally removed by the vulgar mind, are encouraged to grow square, so as not to penetrate the flesh. Inattention to this general
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