J 22 



COCHABAMBA. 



among the sand and gravel of the river bed. Near some Indian huts, 

 we hear them singing and playing upon a small guitar. We seldom 

 heard singing on the mountains. Jose was ahead with the baggage, 

 and, as the bright moon rose above the low hills before us, we discovered 

 we had taken the wrong road. The Indians soon put us right ; we 

 were nearly fagged out with the day's work descending the Andes, but 

 enjoyed the calm summer night. Our postillion's horn told us we had 

 arrived at Zizque post-house. 



At 8 a. m., thermometer, 70°; wet bulb, 61°. The difference between 

 this temperature and that of yesterday morning at 1 a. in., on the moun- 

 tains, is for the air 29°, and wet bulb 25°. Cool springs of fresh water 

 rise along the edge of small green meadows ; fine cattle feed under the 

 shade of large willows trees. The postman keeps a good horse, and his 

 house is surrounded by fig trees, loaded with fruit. By the side of a 

 small stream snipe fly up. The doves and pigeons coo among the trees 

 and bushes, while the turkey-buzzard soars over the tops of the small 

 hills about us. 



The road is narrow but level. On one hand we have th%maizeieady 

 for the reaper ; while, on the other, it is just peeping out of the gWutid; 

 further on, in one field, the Indians are planting corn, and others are 

 gathering their crop. Barley and wheat produce large heads and rich 

 grains; beans seem to be favorites. Old hens run through the corn* 

 patches with their families, while Spanish cocks square off before us in 

 the road for a fight. 



Under a grove of fig trees, which are large, were seated a party of ' 

 merry Indian girls, sewing, spinning, and drinking'chicha with their 

 lovers. 



On the 10th December, 1851, we rode into the beautiful city of Co- 

 chabamba, having a population of 30,396 people, situated close to the 

 south side of a range of mountains, jutting out from the main trunk of 

 the Andes, in latitude 17° S., and stretching off into the Madeira Plata, 

 over two hundred miles in an east by south direction, separating this 

 valley from that of Yungas. 



As the newly appointed prefect was sick in bed with fever and ague, 

 and his family not yet in their own house, we were obliged to seek 

 quarters in the post-house. There was no hotel, and our letters of intro- 

 duction were to the prefect. We had a horror of a post-house, not 

 usually so habitable in a large city as it is on the road, and thought we 

 had better go back into the country and pitch our .tent under the fig 

 trees. But the postillions and mules seemed tired, so we let them lead 

 the way through well paved streets. 



The houses are neatly painted, and some of them three stories in 



