That one over there is a clerk. But why these fine clothes? Ah!
thereby hangs the tale. Appearance is worshiped. Parade runs
through everything, even in the prevailing religion, which, alas,
is little more than form--parade. Don't get the idea that
everybody is finely dressed and that every handsomely-dressed man
is a barber. Many are able to afford such clothes and are cultured
gentlemen. One notices most the dress of the lower classes, the
most striking article of which is the wooden-bottom sandals into
which they thrust their toes and go flapping along in imminent
peril of losing the slippers every moment. The remainder of the
clothing worn by these beslippered people consists often of only
two thin garments. Certainly this is a place of great contrasts.
But somehow these contrasts do not impress one as being
incongruous. They are in perfect keeping with their surroundings.
Rio is really a cosmopolitan city and is a pleasant blending of
the old and the new.

There are several places from which splendid views of the city can
be had, but none of them is comparable to the panorama which
stretches out before one when he stands on the top of Mt.
Corcovado. The scene which greets one from this mountain is
indescribable. The Bay of Rio de Janeiro, with its eighty islands,
Sugar Loaf Mountain, a bare rock standing at the entrance, the
city winding its tortuous way in and out between the mountains and
spreading itself over many hills, the open sea in the distance and
the wild mountain scenery to the back of us, constitute a panorama
surpassingly beautiful.

Nictheroy lies just across the bay. We went over there one night
and spoke in the rented hall where our church worships, and spent