Wlien Lady burton was traveling ïlone in Brasil, after three months roughing it in tñe interior, she arrived at Rio Janeiro in a plight which might excuse any one for not recognizing her. Her boots were in shreds, her dress in slits, her nat in ribbons, and her face, much swollen by exposure, was of a reddish mahogany hue. On arriving she was told that the Estrangeiros hotel, where she had left her maid and luggage, was full, and fo she went to the next house in town. The landlord, seeing before him only a ragged woman, pointed across the rcad to a little tavern wuere sailors' wives were wont to lodge. "My good woman," said he, "I think that will be about your place. Not here!" "Well," she responded, "I think I shall stay here, all the same." Very much amazed, he showed hr an attic room, but she would have none of it, and insisted on engaging one of the best rooms. Entering it, she said: "Now be kind enough to send this letter for me to the Estrangeiros." In reply to the letter carne the maid, a most imposing functionary, with the luggage and letters. After a bath and a change of garments, Lady Burton rang the bell to order supper, and the landlord himself appeared. "Did that woman come to take apartments for you, madam?" he asked, humbly. "I beg your pardon. I am afraid I was rude to her." "I am that woman," returned Lady Burton, smilling. "But you need not apologizo, for I saw myself in the glas3, and I do not wonder at your Buspicions." . . , '