hor in the port
after a passage of a few days from the luxuriantly verdant shores of the
islands lying to the south. Certainly, none of our ship's company would
have been disposed to give the name of "Vale of Paradise" to the
sterile, monotonous coast which lay outstretched before us; and yet, to
the early navigators, its first aspect, after a long and dreary voyage,
over the desert ocean, might naturally enough have suggested the idea of
an earthly paradise.

Along the sea coast there extends a range of round-topped hills, 15 or
16 hundred feet high, covered with a grey-brownish coating, relieved
only here and there by patches of dead green, and furrowed by clefts,
within which the bright red of tile-roofed houses is discernible.
Half-withered cactus trees, the only plants which take root in the
ungenial soil, impart no life to the dreary landscape. The hills
continue rising in undulating outlines, and extend into the interior of
the country, where they unite with the great chain of the Andes.

The bay of Valparaiso is open on the north and west; on the south it is
protected by a little promontory called the Punta de Coromilla. In this
direction the shore is steep and rocky, and the waves break against it
with great fury. From the Punta de Coromilla the bay extends from east
to north-west in the form of a gently curved crescent, having a sloping,
sandy beach, which rises very gradually towards the hills. On the north
side of the bay there are several small inlets, almost inaccessible and
edged with steep rocks. The bay is sometimes unsafe, for it is
completely unsheltered on the north, and the heavy gales which blow from
that point frequently end in storms. At those times the bay is furiously
agitated, the waves sometimes rising as high as in the open sea, and the
ships are obliged to cast their sheet-anchors. Many vessels have at
various times been driven from their anchorage, cast ashore, and dashed
to pieces on a rock called Little Cape Horn; for, when a violent gale
blows from the north, it is impossible to get out to sea. Sailors are
accustomed to say that in a violent storm they would rather be tossed
about on the wide ocean than be at anchor in the bay of Valparaiso. But
against the south wind, though sometimes no less boisterous than the
northern gales, the harbor affords secure refuge, being perfectly
sheltered by the Punta de Coromilla.

The town of Valparaiso looks as if built on terraces at the foot of th