While we are among the Peruvians, we must not entirely overlook their country, and the features of its varied landscapes.  It is divided by the Andes into three different lands, so to speak, La Costa, the region between the coast and the Andes; La Sierra, the mountain region, and La Montana, or the wooded region east of the Andes. La Costa, in which Lima is situated, at the distance of about six miles from the sea, may be briefly described as a sandy desert, interspersed with fertile valleys, and watered by several rivers of no great magnitude.  It seldom or never rains there, but there are heavy dews at night which freshen and preserve the vegetation.  The magnificence of the mountain region baffles all attempts at word-painting, as it baffles the art of the painter.  Church, the artist, gives us what is, perhaps, the best representation we are ever likely to have of it, but it is only a glimpse after all.  Still more indescribable, if that be possible, are the enormous wildernesses which stretch from the Andes to the vast pampas to the eastward.  “Here everything is on Nature’s great scale.  The whole country is one continuous forest, which, beginning at very different heights, presents an undulating aspect.  One moves on his way with trees before, above, and beneath him, in a deep abyss like the ocean.  And in these woods, as on the immensity of the waters, the mind is bewildered; whatever way it directs the eye there it meets the majesty of the Infinite.  The marvels of Nature are in these regions so common that one becomes accustomed to behold, without emotion, trees whose tops exceed the height of 100 varas (290 English feet), with a proportionate thickness, beyond the belief of such as never saw them; and, supporting on their trunks a hundred different plants, they, individually, present rather the appearance of a small plantation than one great tree.  It is only after you leave the woods, and ordinary objects of comparison present themselves to the mind, that you can realize in thought the colossal stature of these samples of Montana vegetation.”

Peru is a fitting theatre for the great dramas which have been played upon its wild, mountainous stage.  The dark background of its past is haunted by the shadows of the unknown race who built its ruined cities and temples.  Then come the beneficent, heavenly Incas, and the mild, pastoral people over whom they rule.  Last, the cruel, treacherous Spaniard, slaughtering his friendly hosts with one hand, while the other holds the Bible to their lips!

THE OLD MAID’S VILLAGE.

I had been passing the summer on the banks of the Hudson—­in that charmed region which lies about what was once the home of Diedrich Knickerbocker, with the enchanted ground of Sleepy Hollow on the one hand, and the shrine of Sunnyside on the other.  In many happy morning walks and peaceful twilight rambles, I had made the acquaintance of every winding lane, every shaded avenue, every bosky dell and sunny glade for miles around.  I had wandered hither and thither, through all the golden season, and fairly steeped my soul in the beauty, the languor, the poetry of the “Irving country;” and now, filled, as it were, with rare wine, content and happy, I was ready to return to the town, and take up the matter-of-fact habit of life again.