ROAD TO SANTIAGO. 195 
reaching the height, its woody glens, and the snowy mountains beyond, 
formed a very beautiful picture; the sky was serene, and the tempera- 
ture delightful. In short, it might have been Italy, but that it wanted 
the tower and the temple to show that man inhabited it : but here all 
is too new ; and one half expects to see a savage start from the nearest 
thicket, or to hear a panther roar from the hill. As soon as we could 
prevail on ourselves to leave the beautiful spot which commanded the 
view, we descended into the vale below, where we came to the post- 
house, and rested our horses; while doing so, the hostess obliged 
us to walk in and sit down at her family dinner. The house is a 
* decent farm-house, and not by any means an inn, though the post 
is stationed there. Our repast was the usual stew, charquican, of the 
country, fresh and dried meat boiled together, with a variety of 
vegetables, and seasoned with aji or Chile pepper, the whole served 
up in a huge silver dish; and silver forks were distributed to each 
person, of whom, with ourselves, there were eight. Milk, with maize 
flour and brandy, completed the dinner. At length, ourselves and 
our horses being refreshed, we renewed our journey, our peon and 
mules having gone on before; and on leaving the Caxon, entered on 
the long deep vale on which both Curucavia and Bustamante stand. 
The first lies pretty widely scattered among its orchards at the foot 
of a mountain, and on the margin of a broad stream called the Estero 
of Curucavia, which issues out of a deep valley beyond, and the 
fording passage of which is exactly at the most picturesque spot. 
Bustamante is a hamlet, so named from the mayorasgo to whom it 
belongs; it lies under part of the ridge that forms the Cuesta de 
Prado, and has little remarkable to recommend it. The post-house 
is kept by a most civil and attentive old lady, who gave us very good 
mutton and excellent claret for dinner, and a clean room to sleep in: 
the floor is mud; and in different corners posts are stuck so as to 
form bed-places, on which we placed our matrasses, and slept 
extremely well, my maid, as before, being the most fatigued of 
the party, a proof that youth and health are not always the hardiest 
travelling companions ; — she went to bed, while I remained up to 
write and prepare every thing for to-morrow. 
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