and built of pumice,
widely different from the palaces and temples which are said to have
stood here in the palmy days of the Incas. Cotopaxi stands threateningly
near, and its rumbling thunder is the source of constant alarm.

[Footnote 16: This is shortened in parlance to Tacunga. The full name,
according to La Condamine, is _Llacta-cunga_, _llacta_ meaning country,
and _cunga_, neck.]

From Latacunga to Quito there is a very fine carriage road, the result
of one man's administration--Senor G. Garcia Moreno. For many miles it
passes over an uncultivated plateau, strewn with volcanic fragments. The
farms are confined to the slopes of the Cordilleras, and, as every where
else, the tumbling haciendas indicate the increasing poverty of the
owner. Superstition and indolence go hand in hand. On a great rock
rising out of the sandy plain they show a print of the foot of St.
Bartholomew, who alighted here on a visit--surely to the volcanoes, as
it was long before the red man had found this valley. Abreast of
Cotopaxi the road cuts through high hills of fine pumice
inter-stratified with black earth, and rapidly ascends till it reaches
Tiupullo, eleven thousand five hundred feet above the sea. This high
ridge,[17] stretching across the valley from Cotopaxi to Iliniza, is a
part of the great water-shed of the continent--the waters on the
southern slope flowing through the Pastassa and Amazon to the Atlantic,
those on the north finding their way to the Pacific by the Rio
Esmeraldas. At this bleak place we breakfasted on punch and guinea-pig.

[Footnote 17: Sometimes called _Chisinche_.]

As soon as we began to descend, the glittering cone of Cotopaxi, and the
gloomy plain it has so often devastated, passed out of view, and before
us was a green valley exceedingly rich and well cultivated, girt by a
wall of mountains, the towers of which were the peaks of Corazon and
Ruminagui. Loathsome lepers by the wayside alone disturbed the pleasing
impression. Three hours more of travel brought us to the straggling
village of Machachi, standing in the centre of the beautiful plain, at
an altitude of nine thousand nine hundred feet. Nature designed this
spot for a home of plenty and comfort, but the habitations of the
wretched proprietors are windowless adobe hovels, thatched with dried
grass, and notorious for their filth.

We must needs make one more ascent, for the ridge of Tambillo hides the
goal of our journey. The moment we reache