From the table lands can often be seen in the distance snow-covered tops of mountains, projected in bold, white outlines against the deep-blue sky; and there the sky is really blue, not of that pale tinge that often passes for it, but of a deeper blue than even the rich October sky of North America. As if joining the sky, are the shining summits of the mountains. The two ethereal colors, blue and white, thus meet in dazzling harmony. Sometimes so many of these white, towering heights can be seen, and in so different quarters, that one may almost fancy the sky itself to be a vast dome of sapphire supported by gigantic pillars of marble.
Most of the cities, villages, and farms are on these table lands. Often, for the sake of the grand view, a villa is built on a steep ridge, within sight of the broad, undulating surface of some plateau; or, in some position of peerless beauty, the glittering cross on some convent may be seen. The Spanish race appreciate the picturesque, as is shown by their choice of sites, not only in Spain, but in Spanish America. The poetical, imaginative character which has marked Spanish annals for centuries, still marks those who have any claim to Spanish descent. The South American, though half an Indian, recognizes the grandeur of his native mountains, and the beauty of the broad, fertile valleys, while a thorough-going Anglo-Saxon of North America, in the same places, would calculate whether or not the torrent that rushes foaming and glittering down the mountain is too steep to serve a mill, or whether the smaller mountains might not be levelled for building lots; or he would gaze upon some beautiful table land with wonder indeed, but with wonder chiefly how much wheat or barley there grows to the acre, or can be made to grow. The table lands produce the grains and fruits of the temperate zone; and, accordingly, proprietors who own, as many do, estates on the tropical and on the temperate level, may supply their tables with fruits from their own grounds, for which, in other countries, the world must be brought under contribution. The soil is cultivated mainly by Indians. Descendants of the ancient rulers of the land now till the fields of the descendants of the conquerors.
Some, indeed, representing more or less the Indian part of the population, are owners of estates; yet a full Indian rarely has lands of his own. He is a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, tills the fields, and performs most of the drudgery of the country. More South Americana of Indian descent, out of the general population, have gained honor and power than could possibly have done so under the confined and absolute sway of the Incas. The Indians of all Spanish America have progressed, however slowly and rudely, in the arts, labors, culture, and faith of Christian civilization, and, in the aggregate, are in advance of the Indians of Anglo-America.
Let the imagination survey the whole range of the Andes for their vast extent of sixty degrees of latitude. On every level space are seen the signs of culture and human habitation, fields green with the early grain, or yellow with the harvest. The roads now wind through forests of constant shade, even under the burning sun of the equator; now they turn with gentle windings, or with steep abruptness, while below spread bright and beautiful lands, and interesting the more because associated with the homes and lives of men.
In the grandest scenery, some sign of man's abode will be grateful. No one, indeed, whose soul has not been warped out of all likeness to the Divine image which it once wore, can regard without abhorrence such intrusions of noisy machinery into scenes of natural sublimity as, for instance, have desecrated the neighborhood of Niagara Falls, and which would have done so yet more, but for the energetic and forever-praiseworthy resistance of the proprietors of adjacent grounds; as if America, with her thousands of miles of rivers, and almost infinite number of rapid, unfailing brooks, had not mill privileges enough, without daring to insult the Divine Majesty by wresting the Falls of Niagara from their true design. The spirit of gain, which has been eager, though—thanks be to God—it has not been able to spoil the natural glory of Niagara, is vile, degraded, base enough to sell a mother's dying gift for gold, or to seize, if it had the power, the jewelled gates of the New Jerusalem as collateral security for its meagre faith in anything divine.
But, though the presence of that sacrilegious materialism, of that practical blasphemy, which defies creative Deity at the very shrines where its infinite power is most wonderfully displayed, is a plague spot, a malignant sign of spiritual leprosy, which warns all to beware of its vile contagion; yet, the suggestions of rural toil, the sight of tilled fields, the cottage, the shepherd and his flock, are all harmonious with nature, even in her grandeur; for they show that the glorious wonders of earth were given, not, indeed, to be distorted, but to be enjoyed by man; and even the stupendous mountain derives a new charm from the reflection that it may minister daily to the elevation of the soul, while the benign fertility of the valley sustains the natural life.
How pleasantly these villages nestle upon the breasts of the mountains, as if there to find shelter from the stormy blast! Trains of mules, attended by their drivers, whose shrill shouts echo among the rocky hills, wind upward, laden with rich tropical fruits from the coast, or with goods from other lands. Other trains descend, laden with grain and the fruits of the temperate zone, from the higher districts. Well-guarded mules bear bars of precious silver from the mountain mines for the currency of the world, or to render dazzling service on the tables of nobles and kings in foreign lands. Look upon the gorgeous clouds above you, as if the snowy Andes were soaring heavenward; reach higher points, and look upon shining clouds far below, as if the same snowy mountains had descended to bow in meek devotion. The llama, the delicate beast of burden, sometimes called the Peruvian camel, with gently curving neck, moves gracefully on, turning often and quickly, from side to side, mild, plaintive eyes, as if entreating pity.
The cascade glances like a streak of silver from the mountain at your side; in the valley you see the sweet, calm lake, or you hear the torrent, sounding among shadowy woodlands, never weary, never still. Stand on a lofty ridge, and look abroad on the vast, snowy heights that appear in the horizon;—then let the 'mind's eye' look beyond the horizon, and behold similar peaks stretching three thousand miles along. Then bend reverently before Him who has made earth so grand.
Go to the galleries of Rome and Florence. It is wise to gather new beauty to the soul from works of art, and to study the exquisite graces which the great masters have gathered from nature and delineated in glowing canvas or in lasting marble; yet, here is a gallery of paintings by the Great Master and Author of all sublimity and beauty in heaven and earth, extending, not from room to room of buildings made with hands and roofed with cedar, but from hall to hall of nature's colossal cathedral, roofed by the infinite sky. Look at these pictures, ever changing, yet ever grand, of majestic mountains, of reposing valleys, of fertile plains, of rural homes, of streams and waterfalls, of vast forests, of myriad forms of life and beauty, of sunrise, sunset, and the glittering moon. What a marvellous variety in the objects portrayed! What surprises at every turn! Colors more brilliant than Titian or Allston could combine, join in harmonious effect on every side, and grace and vigor, beauty and grandeur, are blended in every scene and almost in every outline. Would you examine the famous statues of the world, and admire the symmetry of form and power of expression drawn forth by human skill from the hard, white stone? Or will the fragments of ancient art give delight for their expressive beauty, visible though in broken forms? Behold here a gallery of statuary, a line of divine masterpieces, whiter than Parian marble, wrought by the 'Ancient of Days.' Will you admire Michael Angelo's colossal 'Day and Night'? and revere the mortal genius that can so impress the soul? Give homage, then, for the majesty of power with which He who created and adorned the universe has displayed, among the Andes, Day and Night—Day robed with unutterable splendor, Night with transcendent awe.
Mountains!—the grandest of nature's visible works—ye are also the figures of majesty, of strength, of loftiness of soul! Ye are the raised letters which record on the great globe the history of man! Ye are the mighty scales in which the fate of nations has been weighed! Ye have checked the march of conquest, or inspired with new, defiant energy the conqueror's will! Your ranges are the projecting lines which mark, on the great dialplate of the world, the shadows of the rolling ages! On your steep, bleak heights empires have been lost and won! Ye show how weak is man, how great is God!