SANTIAGO. 239 



Monday, September 9th. — This morning, Dona Rosario, Don Jose 

 Antonio, Mr. de Roos, and I, attended by my peon Felipe, left the 

 city on a little expedition to the hacienda of Don Justo Salinas, a son- 

 in-law of my host. The road lies over the plain of Maypu, which is 

 perfectly level between the city and the river, a distance of from twenty 

 to thirty miles ; and this is the part newly fertilised by the Director's 

 canal, which waters the land formerly barren between the Mapocho 

 and Maypu. The old Spanish government had at one time the same 

 object in view ; but after spending a large sum in preparation for the 

 water-courses, nothing was done. The republic has laid out 25,000 

 dollars on the main canal ; and by selling the land at a nominal valu- 

 ation, a small annual quitrent only being payable, but requiring 500 

 dollars for the water sufficient for a large farm, has repaid itself, or 

 rather I should say, has raised a large sum, — near 200,000 dollars, I 

 am told. The proprietor of each farm is bound to face his part of 

 the canal with stone, and to maintain the water-course. The crops 

 are looking very fine all along the plain ; the soil seems to me to be 

 a light vegetable mould mixed with sand, and full of pebbles, as if it 

 had been long under water : these pebbles are larger and more irre- 

 gular on the plain than in the beds of the Mapocho or Maypu, ex- 

 cepting where the latter, in the very midst of its channel, has lodged 

 or uncovered rocks of considerable size. Midway between the city 

 and the river, one of the little ranges of hills which cross the plain 

 at right angles with the Andes, and seem to connect the inferior 

 ridges of the Prado and others with the grand cordillera, runs across 

 the road, sinking completely into the plain before it reaches the 

 mountain. The pass between the last little cone of this range and 

 the main part is called the Portesuelo of St. Austin de Fango ; and 

 just at its entrance there are a few cottages, surrounded by some little 

 orchards watered by an old cut from the Maypu, the sight of which 

 was quite refreshing after a fifteen miles' ride without a variety. 

 Fifteen miles more, very nearly as monotonous, brought us to the ford 

 of the rapid and turbid Maypu. This river flows out of the Andes, 



