SANTIAGO. 177 



and convent turrets, these are all that claim tin- uttc-ntion from our elevated eyrie. Nor are 

 thru- many cliaiiires in the panorama in a climate where almost every plant that in duly irrigated 

 becomes an evergreen. 



Early morning brings a crowd of peons from the country with pannier* and baskets of fowls, 

 fruits, or vegetables; bakers and inilkwomcn, with huge trunk-like receptacles slung one on 

 cadi side of a mule, or stout tin cans similarly arranged; droves of water-venders distributing 

 to families their daily supplies from the turbid fountains; men atop of dark-green moving piles, 

 that prove to be horses enveloped to their nostrils in bundles of alfalfa (a variety of lucerne) ; a 

 drove of pack-mules or a train of carts just entering from the port ; and the streets are like a 

 hive, the voices of all the thousand venders ascending Santa Lucia and rendering it a very 

 Bedlam. Every material and variety of food or clothing may be bought in the streets; the 

 peddlers scream out their wares at the top of their voices, and many of them are accompanied 

 by one or more boys who carry the baskets and echo the song. 



At noon, silence and solitude reign, the sun driving almost every one within doors. To us 

 he sends a glare of reflected light, from the white walls and shadowless streets, with cur rente of 

 heated air that imparts undulation to every object no little painful to the eyes. Perhaps 

 straggling peons may be seen about the heaps of melons or other fruits for sale in the smaller 

 plazas, devouring the cool and juicy pulp of a water-melon, or hugging the walls as they pass 

 on errands ; or a guaso, detained by pleasures of the chicha cup, with brain stimulated and 

 money gone, dashes over the stony pavement, a long bridle-rein or lasso whirling about his 

 head, and poncho streaming in the wind as he thrashes his horse onward ; but the contrast 

 to the morning is very great. 



With the decline of the sun the streets again become populated, and at twilight those in which 

 the shops are situated are thronged with a sauntering multitude. But there is a brief interme- 

 diate time when the grander Cordilleras claim attention, viz : the period commencing when the 

 city first falls under the shadow of the western range, and ending when the sun's last rays leave 

 the snow-crests. We must watch the mellowing tints as the shadow creeps upward ; be an eye- 

 witness of its change from gold to vermillion, then violet, and its final purple, followed by "a 

 glory" of radiant beams streaming upward from a point opposite that at which the day-god 

 disappeared, to confess how inadequate are human acquisitions to portray the impressions nature 

 vouchsafes to the retina. Darkness creeps over the earth ; one by one the stars come forth, 

 until the firmament glitters with its myriads of gems "trembling with excess of light;" and 

 the peaks of the Andes, now black, seem to have been brought almost within our grasp. Yet the 

 outlines of the glen and valley are not wholly obliterated, and the lights scattered over their 

 surfaces present no dissimilar counterpart to the view overhead. Within the city, long lines of 

 lanterns mark the course of the streets and bridges ; and the clusters about the plaza show that 

 the peddlers are illuminating their wares ; whilst the hum of voices and the roll of carriage- 

 wheels afford tokens of a busy mass. Later, when the convent bells have long tolled midnight, 

 and the moon has risen high in the heavens, silence again reigns, save when broken by the 

 shrill whistle or cries of the serenos. To me, this was the most charming period. There is 

 light enough to illumine very near objects, and even the masses of snow ; to exhibit the deeper 

 indentations of the mountains, and to soften their harsher outlines ; whilst its reflection from the 

 rapid stream below, as it flows murmuringly westward, adds a charm to the scene which day 

 does not unfold. 



In the sky 



A thousand stars are beaming bright, 

 And low-voiced waters, rippling by, 

 Are gleaming in the silvery light." 



Many an hour has been passed under the soothing influence of its ripple, the world of Santiago 

 wrapt in slumber. 



But the most exquisite views of the cordillera of the Andes are just before sunset, after days 

 23 



