s, changing
with every changing motion, purple, crimson, golden, green. It is as if
the very flowers had taken life, and were revelling with conscious glee
in the soft, bright air. The hues of these birds are dazzlingly bright.
The little creatures glance about like prismatic rays embodied in the
smallest visible forms.

After gazing upon these hummingbirds with joy as great as theirs, as
they revel like fairies in the profusion of this flowery valley, look
upward on the high, grand ridges that close it in. What suddenly starts
from the very top of yon cliff, and floats in the air, high, high, above
you? It is the great condor, expanding his broad wings, wheeling in
flight from ridge to ridge, curving with majestic motion, now poising
himself upon his wings, now apparently descending, now suddenly but
gracefully turning upward, until his lessening shape has gone beyond the
farthest reach of sight. The hummingbird and the condor; hillsides
covered with sheep; rocky ridges inaccessible to man or beast; brooks
that quiver gently on; impetuous torrents; the beauty of Eden and craggy
desolation like that of chaos--these all can you see among the Andes.

Let not the fascination of this valley, the songs of birds, the flowers,
the hummingbirds glistening among them like gems, the soft outlines of
the scenery detain you long. Harder and sterner scenes await you. The
Andes are a picture of life. Every cliff records a lesson; and the
unnumbered flowers interweave with their varied dyes and rich perfumes
gentle suggestions, sweet similitudes for the understanding and the
heart. If, as in this charming valley, the senses may be dissolved in
joy, and the spirit would linger willingly in rapt delight, soon some
hard experience, kindly sent, requires one to brace all manly energy for
the rough encounter, the blast of peril, and duty's steep and craggy
road. You ascend in narrowing ways, casting long, lingering looks upon
the valley, whenever it opens to view between the cliffs.

Here, the ridges are so near together that the shrubbery from the top of
each joins in an arch overhead. There, you pass along by the side of a
mountain, in a path which affords scarcely room for a single horseman,
and where he who enters the close defile, shouts aloud, and, if the
first, thus gains a right of way through, and parties on the other side,
hearing the shout, must wait their turn. Now, you leave for a while the
narrow road, and descend upon a be