LOSING THE TRAIL. 251 



As the cliffs sent back the words, we felt a thrill never 

 caused by the same echo, so often listened to before, when 

 thrown from the walls of a temple of man's own rearing. 

 K any one can stand upon that awful altar and watch the 

 incense-clouds of smoke as they ever pour toward the 

 heavens ; feel the rush of the Avinds, as, unbroken by any 

 obstacle, they hurry almost noiselessly past ; look round 

 upon the scarred ramparts of the amphitheatral walls ; 

 listen to the falling rocks, as they tell of the ruin of the 

 mountain by the lapse of time ; permit the eye to drop 

 three miles down the terraced slope of the Andes toward 

 the Pacific, or to range eastward across the valley of Quito 

 to the great Cordillera that piles itself all along the hori- 

 zon ; and watch the play of the light upon the ice-mantled 

 peaks of Chimborazo, Cotopaxi, Antisana, Cayambi, and 

 Cotocachi — if any one can stand surrounded by such an 

 exhibition of Andean grandeur, and not feel a deeper rev- 

 erence for Nature and her great Architect, then she has, 

 for him, no scene to fire the soul with inspirations of awe 

 and homage. 



From the summit of the mountain we descended the 

 cone to where we had left our horses, brushed from our 

 saddles the snow that had fallen during our absence in 

 the crater, and set out upon our return. Night overtook 

 us while bewildered in the forest that covers the basal 

 portion of the volcano. Having lost our trail, we wan- 

 dered several hours in hopes of extricating ourselves ; but 

 were obliged to pass a wearisome night upon the slope of 

 the mountain. The following morning discovered to us 

 the lost trail, which soon brought us upon the plateau, 

 and shortly after we passed under the old arched gateway, 

 and were once more in Quito. 



