the great tree-euphorbia, with which we had been so familiar in Cuba, with its smooth limbs and huge white flowers.  At last we reached the first hill, and began gently to ascend.  The change was wonderful.  Once out of the plain, we are in the midst of a tropical forest.  The trees are crowded close together, and the convolvulus binds their branches into an impassable jungle, while ferns and creepers weave themselves into a dense mass below; and here and there a glimpse up some deep ravine shows great tree-ferns, thirty feet high, standing close to the brink of a mountain-stream, and flourishing in the damp shade.

Indian Ranchos become more frequent as we ascend; and the inhabitants—­squatting on the ground, or leaning against the door-posts—­just condescend to glance at us as we pass, and then return to their meditations, and their cigarettes, if they happen to have any.  These ranches are the merest huts of canes, thatched with palm-leaves; and close by each a little patch of ground is enclosed by a fence of prickly cactus, within which are growing plantains, with their large smooth leaves and heavy ropes of fruit, the great staple of the “tierra caliente.”

Our road winds along valleys and through pass after pass; and now and then a long zig-zag brings us out of a valley, up to a higher level.  The air grows cooler, we are rapidly changing our climate, and afternoon finds us in the region of the sugar-cane and the coffee-plant.  We pass immense green cane-fields, protected from the visits of passing muleteers and peasants by a thick hedge of thorny coffee-bushes.  The cane is but young yet; but the coffee-plant, with its brilliant white flowers, like little stars, is a beautiful feature in the landscape.

At sunset we are rattling through the streets of the little town of Cordova.  There is such a thoroughly Spanish air about the place, that it might be a suburb of the real Cordova, were it not for the crowds of brown Indians in their scanty cotton dresses and great flat-brimmed hats, and the Mexican costumes of the whiter folks.  Low whitewashed houses, with large windows to the street, protected by the heavy iron-gratings, like cages, that are so familiar to travellers in Southern Europe.  Inside the grating are the ladies of the family, outside stand their male acquaintance, and energetic gossiping is going on.  The smoky little lamp inside gives us a full view of the interior.  Four whitewashed walls; a table; a few stiff-backed chairs; a virgin or saint resplendent in paint and tinsel; and, perhaps, two or three coloured engravings, red, blue, and yellow.