304 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1921. 



tination in the morning. At first the railway skirts the coast, the 

 blue expanse of the Caribbean close by on the right; on the left a 

 solid wall of primeval forest, except where this is broken by an oc- 

 casional small clearing. Soon the track turns inland, alternately 

 passing through swampy forests of palms and other tropical vege- 

 tation of bewildering splendor, and, on ground less wet, extensive 

 plantations of bananas, where are produced most of that fruit which 

 is consumed in the United States. Ere long the ground, still densely 

 wooded, becomes less flat; the verge of the coastal plain has been 

 reached, and the train meanders among the foothills, which become 

 higher and higher until the engine puffs strenuously in its effort to 

 overcome the increasing grade. The aspect of the forest gradually 

 changes ; palms are less in evidence, a solid mantle of closely matted 

 "broad-leaved" trees, in appearance essentially like those of our 

 northern woods but with foliage of a darker, more somber green and 

 with broader and more dome-shaped or flattened crowns, forming 

 the mass of the all-embracing forest. The air becomes sensibly 

 cooler until, toward the summit of the line, the temperature is as 

 bracing as that of a fine October day in the States. The scenery 

 from the car windows is constantly changing, for every turn of the 

 road — and the curves are very frequent — brings into view a picture 

 more magnificent, if possible, than those left behind. Far below, on 

 the left, through a deep and densely wooded gorge, rushes the Rio 

 Reventazon, the mountain wall beyond backed by range over range 

 of mountains until the most distant blend with the blue of the sky. 

 In proceeding upward the first considerable break in the continu- 

 ity of forest is where the Indian village of Tucurriqui is seen across 

 the canyon of the Reventazon, perched high above the foaming 

 stream on a comparatively level bench, surrounded by extensive 

 areas of open pasture and cultivated fields of sugar cane, maize, and 

 upland rice. Gradually such open spaces become more frequent and 

 of greater extent until near Cartago, the former capital, on the 

 southern slope, of the Volcan de Irazii, little woodland can be seen. 

 Here, 4,500 feet above the sea, the bracing, almost chilly, air and 

 stone fences around the fields are strongly suggestive of New Eng- 

 land ; a very transient illusion, however, for many of the telegraph 

 and telephone poles are observed to bear not only foliage of their 

 own but also orchids, ferns and other epiphytic plants; the night- 

 blooming cereus and other cacti grow upon the stone walls, and the 

 low red-tiled houses of the inhabitants are of a style of architecture 

 never seen in northern countries. The highest point along the rail- 

 way is reached at El Alto, a few miles beyond Cartago, at an ele- 

 vation of exactly 1 mile above sea level. Thence the road descends 

 to San Jose, the capital, near the head of a broad valley between 

 the Cordillera Central, just crossed, and the Cerro de la CandeMria, 



