ive hills that encroach
so abruptly upon the bay.

There is an unusual bustle pervading the quay and streets, for a Spanish
Creole town. As ships cannot approach the unprotected shores to
discharge their cargoes, the port is crowded with multitudes of lighters
and whale boats, constantly passing to and fro, while porters, bending
under packages of goods, copper, and produce, are moving from the
_duana_, or warehouses, to the mole and beach. Videttes of mounted
police are posted at every corner, and small guards of soldiers in the
streets, supervising the exertions of gangs of convicts at work for the
authorities. In emulation, also, of the means of locomotion in vogue at
Rio, there has been introduced a ricketty contrivance, of the cab genus,
called _birloches_, to which is attached a horse within the shafts, and
another to caper at the side, similar to a Russian drosky, until a relay
is required, when they are changed. They rattle through the town with
reckless speed, urged by lash and spur of the driver mounted on the
outside beast. The same system is pursued on the longest journeys, with
merely the addition of a larger drove of animals to make up their own
posts from the cavalcade--the only respite from labor remaining in the
privilege of travelling at the same rate without the load.

Shops are sufficiently numerous, filled with manufactured goods from
Europe and the United States, with lots of gimcrackery from China. In
the old _plaza_ at night, almost every inch of ground is occupied by
itinerant venders of wares, toys, shoes, combs, fried fish, fruit, and
_dulces_; each squatted on his own cloth counter, with paper lanterns at
the sides. The proprietors of these ambulating establishments are women
and children. A fine band discourses delightful music, on alternate
evenings, and when one feels disposed to say pretty speeches to pretty
damas, moving gracefully around, and enjoy what is in reality a touch of
Spanish life, it were as well to saunter an hour on the _plaza_.

Valparaiso is extremely disproportioned in breadth to its great length,
necessarily so, from the jutting elevations that hang over it.
Immediately back of the heart of the city are a number of these salient
spurs, on one of which is planted the Campo Santo--foreign and native
cemeteries--while those to the right have been, by trouble and means of
the foreigners, cleared away into small esplanades, having neat and
pretty cottages, surrounded by sh