In Brazil there is a literature that laughs and men of letters who make merry, and this literature of theirs is a true picture of the happy Brazilian people, nestled there in contentment, ignorant of the old world's worries, its crises, and its problems. The contagion of merriment spreads to the writers of the emigrants, and one of them, Mr. F. Kurban, in the magazine "Mount Lebanon," under the title "Gymnastics," tells us this delicious tale:

At last!! Two thousand piasters in the pocket! I know quite well the sum is not large, but it will have to do. I had an appointment, for the first time, with Dercinha (1); I had invited her to dinner at a restaurant and then to see a film — a loaded program, without the least doubt; and some anxiety over it lingered in the depths of my soul, so I did the sum over again: dinner for two at a respectable restaurant, with dessert and tip, between 1,200 and 1,400 piasters; that leaves 700 piasters for the cinema, the cigarettes, and the car.

Six o'clock struck. A last glance at the mirror, and a touch to the cravat. Half an hour later Dercinha was at the appointed meeting place in Patriarchate Square, opposite the church of Saint — the one whose business is marrying people off... After the greetings I complimented her on her elegance and asked her which restaurant she preferred.

Here we are, seated in a private corner of the well-known restaurant, the Elite. The waiter came with the bill of fare in his hand, and while he was laying the table I ventured something quite outside custom: I ordered what I wanted before my compan-ion did... because I wished, in some fashion, to make her understand that she was to follow the same prin-ciple. And so, with one eye on the list of dishes and the other on the price column, I said to the waiter:

— Kindly bring me a roast chicken (its price was 300 piasters) and a plate of mixed salad (150 piasters) and an Austrian omelette (200 piasters). And I began telling myself:

That will do — an excellent dinner! Isn't it so?

But that was not how the young lady understood it. I was thrown into no small confusion when I saw the nail of her prodigiously long forefinger travel from the top of the list to the bottom without paus-ing near the modest items I had ordered. She said:

— Bring a Roman trout.

— At your orders, senhorita.

— And a soufflé, and caviar, and tongues with tartar sauce.

I said:

— What a lot of dishes you are mixing — it's bad for the health!

The waiter smiled a mocking smile, and I felt my cheeks going red. As for her, she answered:

— What harm is there in it? I'm used to it.

Used to it?! Woe to poor me! Only two thousand piasters in the pocket. Then I drew out my handkerchief and raised it to my brow.

She said:

— Do you feel hot, "my treasure"?

— Don't you find the air heavy in here?

— Order a cooled drink.

The waiter heard, and reeled with joy. What a thief! He brought the dishes, and I felt humbled before my "chicken" as he lined it up facing the tongues. You monkey! Why did my companion order caviar? Hasn't the omelette the very same taste??

Dercinha was "getting down" to these delicacies in a way that brought the water to my mouth and lances into my heart! I swallowed my chicken like a man "not there," thinking of the bill.

The waiter came back and said:

— Won't you have something to drink?

What a rascal you are!!

She said: I want a cherry brandy, of the 1905 sort, with a bottle of Vichy.

— And the gentleman?

— Bring a glass of beer.

Dercinha laughed and said: "Azizinho"! there is something in your looks that makes one laugh! They are the looks of a bull that knows it is on the road to the slaughterhouse!

(1) There is no name or thing in the Brazilian

tongue that cannot be made smaller or bigger. For the diminutive they have a "dainty" form: Rosa becomes Rosinha and Jorge Jorginho, and so on... As for the augmentative... that is another story...