But the dweller in cities will not be depressed by this changelessness of landscape. He will rather welcome the escape from the congested haunts of man, drinking in with gusto the fresh clean air that has blown over countless leagues of grassland, and revel in the sense of liberty which comes when one stands in the great open spaces and vast solitudes of nature. If the unending sweep of green and the herds of innumerable cattle become oppressive, the eye can seek relief in following flights of hawks and other birds, or in searching for a clump [Illustration: DESOLATION.] of stunted trees, or the round head of a wind-pump, the sweep of a small stream, the occasional hut of a shepherd, or the more imposing “estancia,” as the Argentina farmhouse is called. Cattle, horses, and sheep are never long out of the line of a traveller’s vision, and with them the herdsmen of the plains, the “gauchos.” Although the Pampas form so large a part of the territory, they do not occupy it all, for the country is so long that it boasts all sorts of climates, from the tropical to the arctic. To the north subtropical forests abound; to the west the plains fade away into the mighty Andes, which tower 23,000 feet towards the sky; while to the south lie the bleak hills and arid plains of Patagonia. Cattle-raising, horse-breeding, wheat-growing, and meal preparation, although the staple industries of the Argentine, do not exhaust the list. Mendoza, situated at a point where the Pampas merge into the foot-hills of the Andes, is celebrated for its vineyards. Poplar trees give shelter from the cold mountain winds, and the scene might almost be laid in the Rhone valley. Woods, streams, and lakes give a diversity which is welcome to the traveller who comes from across the plains. Mendoza has plenty of wide streets and low one-story houses. Shady trees line the roads, and streams of water run down the gutters all day long. In the hot dusty weather an army of boys and men, equipped with buckets attached to long poles, sprinkle the streets with water from the runnels. Little bridges of planks are formed across the gutters where they are too wide to step across. In the dark and smoky interiors of the workmen’s cafés and wineshops merry little groups of bronzed and grizzly bearded peons sit round heavy, old-fashioned tables, sipping wine out of great flagons, smoking big black cigars, gambling, and playing cards. Women, with jet-black eyes, and mantillas, move leisurely about the streets, seeking always the shady side, or sit upon stiff wooden chairs placed outside the entrances to their homes, plying their fans vigorously to keep themselves cool, and the flies from settling. The town is laid out with rigid symmetry; the streets are wide and straight, as if drawn with a ruler, and cross one another at right angles. New buildings have sprung up in the principal street, which lies at the lower end of the town, and all the architectural fads and fancies