ains, which, in
the far distant horizon, dip into the great Pacific. The setting sun
turns the ocean into a sheet of liquid fire. Long columns of purple
light shoot up to the zenith, and as the last point of the sun sinks
beneath the horizon, the stars rush out in full splendor; for at the
equator day gives place to night with only an hour and twenty minutes of
twilight. The mountains are Alpine, yet grander than the Alps; not so
ragged as the granite peaks of Switzerland, but with rounder heads. The
prospect down this occidental slope is diversified by deep valleys,
lands-lides, and flowering trees. Magnificent are the views eastward,

"Where Andes, giant of the western star,
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world."

[Footnote 12: The altitude of 7000 feet is the usual limit of the
rain-line on the west slope of the Andes. The condensation which
produces rain takes place at the equator two or three times higher than
in our latitude.]

The majestic dome of Chimborazo was entirely uncovered of clouds, and
presented a most splendid spectacle. There it stood, its snow-white
summit, unsullied by the foot of man, towering up twice as high as Etna.
For many years it received the homage of the world as the highest point
in America; but now the Aconcagua of Chile claims the palm. Still, what
a panorama from the top of Chimborazo, could one reach it, for the eye
would command ten thousand square miles!

Our road gently winds down the sierra, giving us at every turn sublime
ideas of what nature can do in tossing up the thin crust of our globe.
But sublimity is at a discount here--there is too much of it. Suddenly
we are looking down into the enchanting valley of Chimbo. This romantic
and secluded spot is one of those forgotten corners of the earth which,
barricaded against the march of civilization by almost impassable
mountains, and inhabited by a thriftless race, has been left far behind
in the progress of mankind. Distance lends enchantment to the view. We
are reminded of the pastoral vales of New England. Wheat takes the place
of the sugar-cane, barley of cacao, potatoes of plantains, and turnips
of oranges. Bamboo sheds have given way to neatly whitewashed villages,
and the fields are fenced with rows of aloe. But, drawing nearer, we
find the habitations are in reality miserable mud hovels, without
windows, and tenanted by vermin and ragged poverty. There are herds of
cattle and fields of grain; yet