The Paseo del Molino is the best part of the town, where all the rich
merchants reside in quintas, surrounded by pretty gardens. They are
very fantastic in their ideas of architectural style, and appear to
bestow their patronage impartially, not to say indiscriminately, upon
Gothic cathedrals, Alhambra palaces, Swiss cottages, Italian villas,
and Turkish mosques. Except for this variety, the suburb has somewhat
the appearance of the outskirts of many of the towns on the Riviera,
with the same sub-tropical surroundings. These are, however, hard
times on the River Plate, and more than half the quintas are deserted
and falling into ruins. On our way back, by the Union Road, we met a
great many of the native bullock-carts going home from market. These
huge conveyances are covered with hides, and are drawn by teams of
from two to twelve bullocks, yoked in pairs, and driven by a man on
horseback, who carries a sharp-pointed goad, with which he prods the
animals all round, at intervals. Dressed in a full white linen shirt
and trousers, with his bright poncho and curious saddle-gear, he forms
no unimportant figure in the picturesque scene. In the large
market-place there are hundreds of these carts, with their owners
encamped around them.

When we at last arrived on board the yacht again, at three o'clock, we
found that the miseries of coaling were not yet over, and that there
had been numerous visitors from the shore. Everything on deck looked
black, while below all was pitch dark and airless, every opening and
crevice having been closed and covered with tarpaulin, to keep out the
coal dust. It took seven hours to complete the work, instead of two,
as was hoped and promised, so our chance of starting to-day is over.
This seemed the more disappointing, because, had we foreseen the
delay, we might have made other arrangements for seeing more on shore.