“We halted twice to take some refreshments, and short rests; and, before sunset, we arrived at a miserable sort of inn, where we remained for three hours, and rested ourselves and the mules; and both men and beasts ate hearty suppers. Then we continued our journey, for it was more pleasant to travel at night than in the day. It was evident that we were reaching higher ground, though the ascent was so easy as scarcely to be perceptible. But the air gradually became fresher and cooler, and, at last, a woolen cloak was comfortable.
“When day came we found ourselves in a region almost as barren as the desert we had left the day before. We were on a rocky plain, high up on the hills, or, more properly, small mountains. No plants grew on this plain except a few species of cactus, which flourish in the poorest soils: there were no signs of life, but flocks of turtle-doves.”
CACTUS PLANTS.
“That must have been a pretty sight, though, father! I should like to see a great many turtle-doves together.”
“You would not, if you were a Peruvian farmer, for these poetical birds are the very mischief in the grain-fields. They only troubled us by their melancholy wail. Their sad notes made this dreary solitude still more awful.
“But I had a consolation. Before me rose grandly up the high peaks of the Andes. Their white tops seemed to touch the sky.
“After a time, to my surprise, we began to descend. In a few hours more we were in a lovely valley, filled with villages, and farms, and trees, and flowers. I staid there two days enjoying the valley, and inspecting its curiosities, which I will tell you about some time.”
“Was it warm in the valley?”
“Yes, but not oppressively hot. It was high up on the hills; and then it was the month of August, and the winter season.”