as could be ascertained, the very hour when all this happened.

off from time to time in hopes he would amend his present wild course of life; but his protracted abOur next anecdote was frequently related by the sence on the night in question determined him, and individual himself, and with a serious truthfulness, he met his young apprentice with a sternness that that seems to have made a deep impression on sev- disappeared all at once at the sight of his pale and eral who heard it from his own lips. He had, it agitated countenance. And he spoke kindly inappeared, been the only child of a good and pious stead, bidding him get to bed as fast as he could. woman, who was early left a widow; and after Touched by the mild and pitying tones of his voice, struggling with poverty and ill health for above the youth told his master everything, who, altwelve years, during which she maintained herself though he had no great faith in ghosts, took care and child by the poorly remunerated labors of the not to say a word which should lessen the evident needle, died at length of very weariness and ex-impression made upon the mind of his companion, haustion, preserving her meek and cheerful spirit who became from that time a changed and better to the last, and recommending her orphan boy, with man. many prayers, to the protection of Him who is "the Father of the fatherless."

For the first week or two after her death every one thought that the poor lad would have broken his heart for grief, and soon followed. Instead of which, as its passionate violence passed away, and its yearning affections were repelled and thrown back upon themselves, it hardened. And forgetting all her warning admonitions, he soon became as idle and restless as those into whose society he seemed henceforth cast. We will draw a veil over the next few years. It will be sufficient to mention, that at the time of which we are about to speak, his character, if he could be said to have one, was at its lowest ebb. And even those who out of pity for the boy, or from some lingering recollection of her who was gone, had hitherto continued his friends, dropped off one by one, until he was left an alien, as it were, from all good.

He had been out one evening with some young companions as wild and reckless as himself, and it was late before they thought of separating. It chanced that his nearest way home lay through the churchyard. Most of them would have preferred the high-road, although it was nearly a quarter of a mile farther round, rather than pass so lonely a spot; but the young man of whom we write used to make his boast that he feared neither the living nor the dead! It was a bright moonlight night, and as our hero walked onwards through the green, quiet fields, the bacchanalian song which he had commenced out of defiance upon separating with the rest died away upon his lips, and he lapsed into silence.

66

'Well," that is all natural enough," exclaims the philosopher. "The boy, you tell us, ceased to sing soon after parting with his comrades. The stillness and the moonlight evidently subdued and saddened him, bringing back memories of old times, until from thinking of his mother, and how grieved she would have been had she lived to see this day, his active imagination was worked into the convic tion that he actually saw her, wailing and wringing her hands as he describes; although the impression must have been a powerful one, certainly, to have given a coloring to his whole future life."

Oh, let ours, gentle reader, be a simpler, and a holier faith! The finger of God might have been in all this; and if so, it was easy for grace to hallow and perfect a work begun in mercy.

The next incident that we shall relate is of a more complicated and mysterious nature, and the purpose to be answered less clearly defined, although we can see no cause to question its authenticity, the narrator being one whose veracity was beyond dispute.

She had, it appears, been kept from church one Sunday evening, in consequence of ill health; but her indisposition not being of sufficient importance to warrant her detaining any one else, even the servants were permitted to go, and she remained at home alone. This was, however, a matter of too frequent occurrence to be much noticed; and having ascertained that the doors were securely fastened, the young lady took her book and began to read. It may be as well to mention that the work in question was a volume of sermons, of by no means an exciting nature; and from the perusal Late as it was a female form sat on one of the of which she presently rose up and proceeded to gravestones wringing her hands, and swaying back- the library, with the intention of consulting some wards and forwards, as though in deep affliction. book of reference. What was her surprise on Naturally kind-hearted, the young man turned out of pushing open the door, which was only half closed, his way to see if there was anything he could do for to see her father sitting in the easy chair which he her; but somehow, as he approached nearer, the generally occupied! She instantly addressed him figure seemed strangely familiar-aye, even the old in a cheerful voice, thinking he must have returned bonnet with its faded black riband, and the well-worn without her knowledge, for she distinctly rememdress; and while he was still attentively regarding bered seeing him depart with the rest. Until upon it, it vanished suddenly away! It was, as we have receiving no answer, the utter impossibility of such said, a bright moonlight night-so bright that, a thing suddenly came over her, and she had only stooping down over the spot from whence the fig-strength to totter from the room and seat herself ure had so strangely disappeared, the orphan distinctly read the name of his lost parent, together with the date of her death; and he knew now that it was her spirit he had seen! But why did she weep? She whose deep trust in God had kept her always cheerful amid poverty and disease, so that she died at last blessing and thanking Him for all His mercies? The conscience-stricken youth felt that it was his sins that would not let her rest even in the grave; and bowing down his face upon the damp grass, asked pardon of Heaven and of her.

It seems that for a long while past his old master had meant to give him warning, but had put it

upon the stairs outside, where she remained until the return of the family from church; when, having with difficulty unfastened the door, she instantly fainted away.

The young lady's first question upon coming to herself, was for her father; and seeing him bending over her she became gradually more composed, and had sufficient self-possession to forbear mentioning what had occurred to any member of the family, although she afterwards related it to one or two intimate friends. Had she done so, it is probable that the effect upon the imagination of her father might, as it has been too frequently the case,

have brought about the realization of her worst fears; instead of which they gradually passed away; although for some time afterwards she continued to watch over him with the most affectionate anxiety, and was observed to be restless and uneasy whenever he was out of her sight for long together. The old man lived, however, many years after this occurrence, and in the full enjoyment of his usual health.

We have heard tell of a gentleman of high literary attainments, possessed of a peculiarly nervous temperament, combined with a very powerful imagination, who was in the frequent habit of seeing persons coming towards him, as it were, and then suddenly vanishing all at once; so that he was occasionally puzzled to distinguish these illusions from what was actually taking place around him. Very much of this may be explained away by simple pathological causes. But the incident which we are about to relate, in which the same illusion was present to two persons at once, is less easy of solution. The parties to whom it occurred are well-known to us, and the neighborhood by no means remarkable for any associations of a romantic or spiritual nature.

It happened a few years ago, that two sisters passing along the outside of the Regent's Park, on their way home, and somewhat later than was their usual custom, in consequence of having been unavoidably detained, saw an old woman a few paces before them, the ancient appearance of whose dress and manner seems to have at first afforded them ample materials for criticism. And yet there was nothing extraordinary about her attire, which consisted of a dark cotton dress and shawl, with a black silk bonnet, which, it was facetiously observed, might from its size and shape have been made in the " year one!" And still they could not help noticing her.

cheek and attenuated frame, the more unexpected as the disease was by no means hereditary. A warmer climate was recommended as the last resource, and then it was that the heavy hand of poverty was felt for the first time among this hitherto happy and attached family; and they prayed for wealth only as the means of restoring life and health to this dear one! And not, as it seemed, altogether in vain.

A lady of good property, with a warm, benevolent heart, that ached sometimes amid its affluence for something to love and cherish, chanced to hear of Clara's ill health; and touched by the air of patient resignation with which one so young and beautiful looked calmly forward to her early death, resolved within herself that no human means should be left untried to avert so sad a doom. And amid the prayers and blessings of her parents and sisters Clara quitted England with her kind protectress, full of hope and gratitude.

Naturally gentle and sweet tempered, she was much beloved by every member of her family, but more particularly by her next sister Effie, between whom and herself there subsisted a most tender affection. And now that Clara was about to leave her, perhaps forever, the poor girl's grief and anguish became uncontrollable, until reminded of its selfishness by the increasing paleness of that beloved one.

"You will come again?" whispered Effie, as she slowly disengaged herself from the encircling arms of her half-fainting sister, and placed her in those of her kind friend, who would willingly, had it not been too late, have taken both of them with her. "Oh, promise me that you will come again!"

66

Yes, I promise you faithfully, dear Effie, let what will happen!" replied Clara, with sudden animation; and the sisters parted thus.

most sanguine expectations. A few weeks afterwards the girl wrote herself, in high spirits. The physician doubted whether she was consumptive at all; and at any rate predicted her speedy restoration under the discipline which he prescribed, united with the mild and genial air of that beautiful climate. She spoke of her gratitude to God, and that kind friend whom he had raised up for her; and of her one only wish, that dear Effie were but with her!

The first letter they received was from Mrs. It was just that soft twilight hour which is so L, and it was full of hope. Her young protérapidly followed in England by the dusk of even-gée was already better and stronger beyond her ing; but as yet all was clear and easily defined; when on a sudden the sisters simultaneously missed the old woman from before them, although she had been there but a moment previous, laughingly exclaiming, that she had most decidedly vanished! And so it appeared. She was certainly nowhere to be seen; and being about the middle of one of the terraces, it was impossible that she could have escaped down any turning in such an instant of time. It was also evident that she had not crossed the road, or if so, no traces of her were visible in What rejoicing there was over that letter! that direction. The sisters said little at the time, What happy tears shed upon every recollection of but involuntarily quickening their steps, were soon it! While the sunshine of domestic peace once at home. And to this day, it is the strong impres- more diffused itself around the humble home of the sion upon both their minds that the old woman was artist. After a time, Clara's warm encomiums no woman at all, but an apparition! It has, how-upon Mrs. L's kindness and affection, awoke a ever, never since been visible to either, although they have passed over the same ground times and often.

The last anecdote we mean to relate will doubtless call up a thousand similar ones in the hearts and memories of our readers, which skeptical as we may all be on the subject, somehow we cannot find it in our consciences to laugh at.

Clara M, was the second daughter of a clever but far from wealthy artist, with a large family dependent upon his genius and exertions. Until her sixteenth year she had been in the constant enjoyment of unbroken health; but about this period it suddenly declined, and symptoms of pulmonary consumption became daily visible in her fevered

thousand wild, ambitious dreams in the heart of her fond mother, at which her husband did but laugh and shake his head. After all it was only natural, they both agreed, for every one to love their darling girl!

Better than a year had passed away. The trav ellers were on their road home. Clara had written a letter full of unabated affection and remembrance, and a little wee note to Effie, to say how she yearned to embrace them all again, and how she was half afraid they would scarcely know her, she had grown so tall and stout; and handsome too, if she were to credit all the pretty things she had said to her; which she did not, of course. This latter piece of information was apart to Effie, who.

verily believed in the depths of her simple and lov-| subscriptions, which was hitherto the highest rate ing heart that it was impossible for Clara to have in their list, has been passed, and they have to become more beautiful, anyhow!

It was a pleasant summer noon. All were busy as bees in the artist's humble but cheerful dwelling, either with the pencil or needle, for one or two bid fair to inherit a portion of their father's genius. They had been silent for some moments, so silent that the earnest tones of Mrs. M's voice actually startled them.

"Effie! my dear Effie, what ails you?" The girl did not answer, but still sat rigid and motionless, with her strained eyeballs fixed upon what seemed a little streak of sunlight that came in through the artist's half-closed shutters.

"Effie!" exclaimed her mother again; and then she looked up, shuddered slightly, and, pointing with her finger towards the spot before indicated, whispered the name of her sister Clara, and immediately fainted away for the first time in her life.

Upon coming to herself, she persisted in declaring that she had seen Clara, standing pale but smilingly in the sunlight, looking at her with so sweet and loving a countenance, that she thought her heart would have burst.

acknowledge a contribution of 301.; Mr. John Ainsworth, of Moss Bank near Bolton, being the first to set that example of enlarged munificence. The progress has been slow, but now the pace seems to be advancing.

Meanwhile, independently of this private subscription, the attention drawn to Mr. Wilderspin's just claims has had the useful effect of moving the proper disposition in the highest quarters. Lord John Russell, whose new administration is to be signalized by some decided activity in the task of educating the people, has advised the queen to bestow a pension of 1007. a year on the founder of Infant Schools. The royal gift was announced by Lord John in the following agreeable terms:

"Chesham Place, July 16, 1846. "SIR-I have received her majesty's commands to place your name in the list of pensions to deserving persons charged upon the queen's civil list, for a yearly sum of one hundred pounds.

"It gives me great pleasure to convey the queen's gracious wish that you will accept this testimony to your services as the founder and pro

moter of Infant Schools.

"I remain your obedient servant, "J. RUSSELL. Wilderspin, Esq., Barton."

“Ah, you had been thinking of her, no doubt!" Effie confessed that she had continually, and bore to be laughed at as one anxious to be convinced that it was even as they had said, nothing more than a dream of her own vivid imagination; but, nevertheless, she could not help feeling restless and unhap- This timely tribute is likely to have a salutary py, with a yearning and troubled anxiety to hear influence on the private subscription. It is at once from the travellers. The artist laughed, too, when a royal and an official acknowledgment of Mr. he heard the story, but was observed to note down Wilderspin's claims. In fact, they are of a kind the time when it occurred upon the back of the pic-to receive general acknowledgment when once ture which he was painting.

It was some time before the long-expected letter arrived which was to name the very day and hour of Clara's return, but it was sealed with black! The poor girl had died on her passage home of a rapid fever, which carried her off the third day after she was attacked. To the last she raved continually of her parents and sisters, more especially Effie; and passed away at length on a bright summer noon, the very same, and even the very hour, on which Effie maintained that she saw her, unconscious of the presence of Mrs. L, who watched by her with a mother's love until all was over.

attention is turned to the subject. Wilderspin's right to the public rewards for irregular services fully stands the test which we recently laid down. The good done by him is palpable and great: he has shown that tuition may be given in the very early years of childhood, and shown that it can best, can only be done, by kindness; he has set others upon the same task, until it has become a commonplace; and he has personally been instrumental, by early training, in saving thousands from vice and misery. The inducements to perform that service were scanty, the discouragements abundant: the project was at first thought to be But we have well nigh exhausted our reminiscen- impossible, and Wilderspin had to encounter the ces, and with them, it may be, the reader's pa- chilling doubts of the world at large, who thought tience, but we hope not. The very wind of which him an idle dreamer-to say nothing of invidious we erstwhile spoke is tired out at length, and sob-attacks upon him for the unsectarian comprehenbing and crying itself to sleep like a weary child. The old trees nod gently in the quiet moonlight; and the church-clock, with its still, solemn voice warns us to our rest. For ourselves we have no fear of spirits; and, to own the truth, but little faith in mesmerism, clairvoyance, or any of the fashionable mysteries of the present age. But we verily believe there is nothing impossible to God, and are ready to confess with Shakspeare

"There are more things in heaven and earth Than are dreamt of in our philosophy."

WILDERSPIN, HIS PENSION AND TESTIMONIAL. ALTHOUGH the promoters of the Wilderspin Testimonial are naturally unsatisfied until they succeed in raising their anticipated amount of 2,000, it cannot be said that their efforts have even thus far been unavailing. The barrier of 101.

siveness with which he tendered his offers of assistance. His personal sacrifices have been great: his intelligence, his zeal, his constitutional activity, his good-humored address, might have been the means of securing his prosperity in many profitable vocations; but he devoted himself to the redemption of indigent infancy from squalid ignorance; and he is poor. And his work is done. His claims, therefore, stand all the tests in the highest degree-the value of the service, the small regular inducement to its performance, the personal sacrifices, and the accomplishment of the work to be rewarded. Few of the "testimonials" so much in vogue just now can so completely and unequivocally stand those tests; with this further consideration-that although the bounty of the crown will relieve Wilderspin's declining years from actual want, it would need something more to secure him that ease which he has so fully earned.-Spectator, August 1.

From Blackwood's Magazine. THE MINE, THE FOREST, AND THE CORDILLERA*.

sought in certain vegetable influences, or in those of the vast variety of minerals which the soil of Peru contains.

terminates fatally. It seizes the Indians and lighter castes in preference to the white men and negroes, and no specific has yet been discovered for its cure. Mules and horses are also subject to its attacks. In THE silver mines of Potosi, the virgin forests, no country, it would appear from Dr. Tschudi's and mighty cordilleras of South America, are evidence, are there so many strange and unaccountwords familiar and full of interest to European ears. able maladies as in Peru. Nearly every valley has Countless riches, prodigious vegetable luxuriance, its peculiar disease, extending over a district of a stupendous grandeur, are the associations they few square miles, and unknown beyond its limits. suggest. With these should be coupled ideas of To most of them it has hitherto been impossible to cruelty, desolation, and disease, of human suffer-assign a cause. Their origin must probably be ing and degradation pushed to their utmost limit, of opportunities neglected, and advantages misused. Not a bar of silver, or a healing drug, or an Alpaca fleece, shipped from Peruvian ports to supply another hemisphere with luxuries and comforts, but is the price of an incalculable amount of misery and even of blood—the blood of a race once noble and powerful, now wretched and depraved by the agency of those whose duty, and in whose power it was to civilize and improve them. The corrupt policy of Spanish rulers, the baneful example of Spanish colonists and their descendants, have gone far towards of San Geronimo de Surco, the innkeeper is the only the depopulation and utter ruin of the richest of South blacksmith, and Dr. Tschudi, whose horse had cast a American countries. How imprudent and suicidal shoe, was compelled to pay half a gold ounce (uphas been the course adopted, will presently be made wards of thirty shillings) to have it replaced. This apparent. Those who desire evidence in support was one half less than the sum at first demanded by of our assertion, need but follow Dr. Tschudi, as the exorbitant son of Vulcan, who doubtless rewe now propose doing, into the mining, mountain-membered the old Spanish proverb, "for a nail is ous and forest districts of Peru.

In the mountains, the shoeing of mules and horses is frequently a matter of much difficulty; and it is advisable for the traveller to acquire the art, and furnish himself with needful implements, before leaving the more civilized part of the country. Farriers are only to be found in the large Indian villages, and it is common to ride fifty or sixty leagues without meeting with one. In the village

lost a shoe, fór a shoe the horse, for the horse the Difficult and dangerous as a journey through the horseman."* The doctor took the hint, and some maritime provinces of Peru undeniably is, it is lessons in shoeing, which afterwards stood him in mere railroad travelling when compared with an good stead. It is a common practice in Peru, on expedition into the interior of the country. In the the sandy coast, and where the roads permit it, to former case, the land is level, and the sun, the ride a horse or mule unshod for the first four or five sand, and the highwaymen, are the only perils to days of a journey. Then shoes are put on the fore be encountered or evaded. But a ramble in the feet, and a few days later on the hinder ones. This mountains is a succession of hairbreadth escapes, a is thought to give new strength to the animals, and deliberate confronting of constantly recurring dan-to enable them to hold out longer. On the moungers, to which even the natives unwillingly expose tain tracks, the wear and tear of iron must be prothemselves, and frequently fall victims. The av-digious, as may be judged from the following alanches, precipices, gaping ravines, slippery gla- description of three leagues of road between Viso ciers, and violent storms common to all Alpine and San Mateo, by no means the worst bit met regions, are here complicated by other risks pecu- with by our traveller. liar to the South American mountains. Heavy "The valley frequently becomes a mere narrow rains, lasting for weeks together, falls of snow that split in the mountains, inclosed between walls of in a few moments obliterate all trace of a path, rock a thousand feet high. These enormous precitreacherous swamps, strange and loathsome mala-pices are either perpendicular, or their summits indies, and even blindness, combine to deter the trav-cline inwards, forming a vast arch; along their eller from his dangerous undertaking. All these base, washed by the foaming waters of the river, or did Dr. Tschudi brave, and from them all, after the higher up, along their side, winds the narrow and endurance of great hardship and suffering, he was dangerous path. In some places they recede a fortunate enough to escape. At a very short dis- little from the perpendicular, and their abrupt tance from Lima, the traveller, proceeding east-slopes are sprinkled with stones and fragments of ward, gets a foretase of the difficulties and incon-rock, which every now and then, loosened by rain, veniences in reserve for him. Whilst riding through detach themselves and roll down into the valley. the vale of Surco, or through some other of the The path is heaped with these fragments, which valleys leading from the coast to the mountains, he give way under the tread of the heavily laden perceives a fountain by the roadside, and pauses to mules, and afford them scanty foothold. From refresh his tired mule. Scarcely is his intention time to time, enormous blocks thunder down the manifest, when he is startled by a cry from his precipice, and bury themselves in the waters beguide, or from a passing Indian-" Cuisdado! Es neath. I associate a painful recollection with the agua de verruga!" In these valleys reigns a terri- road from Viso to San Mateo. It was there that a ble disease called the verrugas, attributed by the mass of stone struck one of my mules, and precipinatives to the water of certain springs, and for tated it into the river. My most important instruwhich all Dr. Tschudi's investigations were insuf-ments and travelling necessaries, a portion of my ficent to discover another cause. Fever, pains in collections and papers, and-an irreparable loss-a the bones, and loss of blood from cutaneous erup-diary carefully and conscientiously kept during a tions, are the leading symptoms of this malady, period of fourteen months, became the prey of which is frequently of long duration, and sometimes the waters. Two days later the mule was washed

* Peru. Reiseskizzen aus den Jahren 1838-1842. Von J. J. VON TSCHUDI. Volume the second.

*"Por un clavo se pierde una herradura, por una herradura un cavallo, por un cavallo un caballero."

ashore, but its load was irrecoverably lost. Each | quainted with the real cause of the malady thus ocyear numerous beasts of burden, and many travel-casioned, and which by them is called puna, by the lers, perish upon this dangerous road. Cavalry on Spanish Creoles veta or mareo, attribute it to the the march are particularly apt to suffer, and often a slip of the horse's foot, or a hasty movement of the rider, suffices to consign both to the yawning chasm by their side. At the inn at Viso I met an officer, who had just come from the mountains, bringing his two sons with him. He had taken the youngest before him; the other, a boy of ten years of age, rode upon the mule's crupper. Half a league from Viso, a large stone came plunging down from the mountain, struck the eldest lad, and dashed him into the stream."

Although frequently ill treated by the Creoles, and especially by the officers, the Indians in most parts of Peru show ready hospitality and good will to the solitary traveller. Those in the neighborhood of San Mateo are an exception; they are distrustful, rough and disobliging. When a traveller enters the village, he is instantly waited upon by the alcalde and regidores, who demand his passport. Has he none, he risks ill-treatment, and being put upon a jackass and carried off to the nearest prefect. Luckily the ignorance of the village authorities renders them easy to deal with; it is rare that they can read. On one occasion, when Dr. Tschudi's passport was demanded, the only printed paper in his pocket was an old playbill, that of the last opera he had attended before his departure from Lima, and which he had taken with him as wadding for his gun. He handed it to the Indian regidor, who gravely unfolded it, stared hard at the words Lucia di Lammermoor, and returned it with the remark, that the passport was perfectly in order.

exhalations of metals, especially of antimony. Horses not bred in the mountains suffer greatly from the veta, and frequently fall down helpless. The arrieros adopt various cruel means for their revival, such as cutting off their ears and tail, and slitting up their nostrils, the latter being probably the only useful remedy, as it allows the animal to inhale a large volume of air. To preserve them from the veta, chopped garlic is put into their nostrils. With human beings, this state of the atmosphere causes the blood to gush from the eyes, nose, and lips, and occasion faintings, blood-spittings, vomitings, and other unpleasant. and dangerous symptoms. The sensation somewhat resembles that of sea sickness, whence the Spanish name of moreo. The malady, in its most violent form, sometimes causes death from excessive loss of blood. Of this, Dr. Tschudi saw instances. Much depends on the general health and constitution of the persons attacked. The action of the veta is very capricious. Some persons do not experience it on a first visit to the mountains, but suffer on subsequent ones. Another singular circumstance is, that it is much more violent in some places than in others of a greater altitude. This affords ground for a supposition, that other causes, besides the diminished pressure of the atmosphere, concur to occasion it. These as yet remain unknown. The districts in which the veta is felt with the greatest intensity, are for the most part very metallic, and this has given rise to the Indian theory of its cause.

speedily increases to an unbearable extent. The eyes become red, the lids swell and bleed. So violent is the agony as to cause despair and delirium. Dr. Tschudi compares it to the sensation occasioned by rubbing Spanish pepper or gunpowder into the eyes. Chronic inflammation, even total blindness, is the frequent consequence of the surumpe in its most intense form. In the Cordilleras it is no unusual thing to find Indians sitting by the wayside, shrieking from pain, and unable to continue their journey. The Creoles, when they visit the mountains, protect themselves with green spectacles and veils.

Another terrible scourge to the traveller in the Anything more wretched in their accommoda- Cordilleras is the surumpe, a violent inflammation of tions than the tambos or village inns, can scarcely the eye, brought on by the sudden reflection of the be imagined. So bad are they, that the traveller is sun from the snow. In those mountains the eyes sometimes driven to pass the night in the snow are kept continually in an irritated state by the rather than accept of their shelter, and at the same rarefied air and cutting winds, and are consequenttime submit to the nuisances with which they ly unusually susceptible. Often the heavens beabound. One of these villanous hostelries, in come suddenly overcast, and in a few minutes the which Dr. Tschudi several times attempted to yellowish-green waste is one sheet of snow. Then sleep, is described by him with a minuteness that out bursts the sun with overpowering splendor, a will rather startle the squeamish amongst his read-sharp burning pain is instantly felt in the eyes, and ers. Vermin everywhere, on the floor and walls, in the clothes of the Indian hag officiating as hostess, even in the caldron in which a vile mixture of potato water and Spanish pepper is prepared for supper. For sole bed there is the damp earth, upon which hosts, children and travellers stretch themselves. Each person is accommodated with a sheepskin, and over the whole company is spread an enormous woollen blanket. But woe to the inexperienced traveller who avails himself of the coverings thus bountifully furnished, swarming as they are with inhabitants from whose assaults escape is impossible. Even if he creeps into a corner, and makes himself a bed with his saddle-cloths, he is not secure. Add to these comforts a stifling smoke, and other nauseous exhalations, and the gambols of innumerable guinea-pigs, common as mice in many parts of Peru, who caper the night through over the faces and bodies of the sleepers, and the picture of a South American mountain inn will be as complete as it is uninviting. But these annoyances, great though they be, are very trifles compared to the more serious evils awaiting the traveller in the higher regions of the Cordilleras. At about 12,600 feet above the level of the sea, the effects of the rarefaction of the atmosphere begin to be sensibly and painfully felt. The natives, unac

During five months of the year, from November till March, storms are of almost daily occurrence in the Cordilleras. They commence with remarkable punctuality between two and three in the af ternoon, and continue till five or half-past; later than this, or in the night, a storm was never known to occur. They are accompanied by falls of snow, which last till after midnight. The morning sun dispels the cold mist that hangs about the mountain peaks, and in a few hours the snow is melted. "On the raging ocean," says Dr. Tschudi, "and in the dark depths of the aboriginal forests, I have witnessed terrific storms, whose horrors were increased by surrounding gloom, and imminent danger, but