of an Orchid Hunter, yj 



mountain, where the track is scarcely discernible on 

 account of the thicket of creepers, we emerged into 

 cleared ground and a fairly beaten track. Passing 

 several straggling huts, we finally reached a large 

 house covered with red tiles, an excellent specimen of 

 the better class of country-house in the interior of 

 this part of Colombia, the owner being a coffee-planter 

 of considerable importance. We arrived here in the 

 evening, and near to the house we were met by a 

 crowd of young men and women, each one bearing a 

 large basket filled with coffee-berries, each workman 

 being paid according to the weight of fruit picked 

 during the day. The berries are afterwards spread 

 out on cemented floors in the sun, where the outside 

 rind of the fruit is taken off and the coffee-beans 

 cleaned by first beating them in a mortar and then 

 subjecting them to a kind of winnowing process. 



The excellent Colombian proprietor of the estate 

 (which is called El Naranjo, or the Orange Tree) 

 treated us with every kindness, which was doubly 

 welcome after the rough life we had just experienced. 

 I passed the night here, and early next morning 

 engaged mules to proceed on my journey to the town 

 of Bucaramanga. The road from this point to the 

 town is supposed to be good, which, in fact, it is, com- 

 pared with some of the roads. But, for anyone who 

 has not an idea of what is called a road in the Republic 



