last night.

At one o'clock we started again, and had a pleasant but rather dusty
drive of eight miles to Macul, the stud-farm established by the late
Don Luis Cousino.

We had some luncheon at Mr. Canning's house, in a room that had
recently been split from top to bottom by an earthquake, and
afterwards sat in the verandah to see the horses and some of the
cattle, which were brought round for our inspection. Amongst them were
Fanfaron, Fandango, and other beautiful thoroughbreds, three fine
Cleveland coach-horses, Suffolk cart-horses and percherons, and some
of the young stock. We saw only a few of the beasts, as at this time
they are away feeding on the hills, but I believe they are as good as
the horses. Mr. Long had arranged for us all to ride round the farm,
and I was mounted on a lovely chestnut mare, sixteen hands high,
daughter of Fanfaron, and niece to Kettledrum. I should have liked to
have bought her and sent her home, but she was not for sale, though
her value was 400_l_. English horses here are as dear, in proportion,
as native horses are cheap. The latter may be bought for from twenty
to sixty dollars apiece; and some of them make capital little hacks.

We rode all over the farm, attended by half-a-dozen peones, who drove
the young thoroughbred stock together, in the enormous fields, for us
to see, and afterwards did the same thing with some of the cattle. We
also went through the farm buildings, in one part of which we saw the
operation of making lassoes. The best are composed of neatly plaited
strips of cured hide, about a quarter of an inch wide, the commoner
sort being made from an undressed cow's hide, with the hair on, cut
from the centre in an ever-increasing circle, so that they are in one
piece, many yards in length. In another part of the farm there were a
few acres more of flower-gardens, orange-trees, and kitchen-gardens.

[Illustration: What makes Horses go in Chili]

Beautiful as the whole place is, it loses much in interest from its
vastness. You never seem to know where you are, or when you have come
to an end. I hear that Madame Cousino talks of extending the park
still further, right up into the mountains, which seems almost a pity,
as it is already too big to be kept in really perfect order, even with
a hundred and twenty men employed upon it. Everything is completely
surrounded and overgrown with flowers. Even the fields are separated
by hedges of sweet-smelling double pink roses,