5S 



HA WAIL 



[letter v. 



ratus of nature's own work just behind the house, and every 

 drop of water is from a distillery similarly provided. The inn 

 is a grass and bamboo house, very beautifully constructed 

 without nails. It is a longish building with a steep roof, 

 divided inside by partitions which run up to the height of the 

 walls. There is no ceiling. The joists which run across are 

 concealed by wreaths of evergreens, from among which peep 

 out here and there stars on a blue ground. The door opens 

 from the verandah into a centre room with a large, open, brick 

 fire place, in which a wood fire is constantly burning, for at 

 this altitude the temperature is cool. Some chairs, two 

 lounges, small tables, and some books and pictures on the 

 walls give a look of comfort, and there is the reality of comfort 

 in perfection. Our sleeping-place, a neat room with a matted 

 floor opens from this, and on the other side there is a similar 

 room, and a small eating-room with a grass cookhouse beyond, 

 from which an obliging old Chinaman who persistently calls us 

 " sir," brings our food. We have had for each meal, tea, pre- 

 served milk, coffee, halo, biscuits, butter, potatoes, goats' flesh, 

 and ohelos. The charge is five dollars a day, but everything 

 except the potatoes and ohelos has to be brought twenty or 

 thirty miles on mules' backs. It is a very pretty, picturesque 

 house both within and without, and stands on a natural lawn 

 of brilliant but unpalatable grass surrounded by a light fence 

 covered with a small, trailing, double rose. It is altogether a 

 most magical building in the heart of a formidable volcanic 

 wilderness. Mr. Gilman, our host, is a fine picturesque-looking 

 man, half-Indian, and speaks remarkably good English, but his 

 wife, a very pretty native woman, speaks none, and he attends 

 to us entirely himself. 



A party of native travellers rainbound are here, and the 

 native women are sitting on the floor stringing flowers and 

 berries for Ids. One very attractive-looking young woman, 

 refined by consumption, is lying on some blankets, and three 

 native men are smoking by the fire. Upa attempts conversa- 

 tion with us in broken English, and the others laugh and talk 

 incessantly. My inkstand, pen, and small handwriting amuse 

 them very much. Miss K., the typical American travelling lady, 

 who is encountered everywhere from the Andes to the Pyramids, 

 tireless, with indomitable energy, Spartan endurance, and a 

 genius for attaining everything, and myself, a limp, ragged, 

 shoeless wretch, complete the group, and our heaps of saddles, 

 blankets, spurs, and gear tell of real travelling, past and future. 



