Cartagena is one of the most picturesque, if one of the most insalubrious cities, in South America. It is Spanish throughout, and contains few modern buildings of any importance. The atmosphere of bygone centuries hangs over it; time and the elements have imparted a richness to its walls that constitutes its only charm. It is like an old painting by a master hand, mellow and sedate. In the joints and cracks of its discoloured walls, creepers, weeds, and mosses find root-hold and nourishment. The buttresses, bastions, battlements, and sentry towers that strengthen and equip the ramparts, all give evidence of the important part the city was designed to play in the colonial system of Spain. The entrance to the city from the little harbour is through a gateway of three arches of imposing proportions. The larger central archway is for mules, horses, and vehicular [Illustration: A COLOMBIAN VILLAGE.] traffic, the two smaller ones for pedestrians. The Plaza de los Coches, the square to which the gateway gives immediate entrance, is surrounded by an arched colonnade that gives a deep shade to the pavement, shops, and stores. A stream of dark, swarthy, and yellow humanity flows through the open space. The bright dresses of the negresses blazing in the sunlight stand out vividly from the dark shadows of the arches and doorways. The white dust of the streets dazzles the eye, and the gloom of the narrow streets that lead in all directions is intensified by the sharp contrast. The streets are fairly well paved, but very unclean and evil smelling. Quaint balconies overhang the pavements, and through the lattices dark, sleepy eyes gaze languidly at the passers-by. The heat is almost unendurable during the summer months, and the inhabitants are to be excused if they lack energy and indulge themselves freely in the use of hammocks and easy rocking-chairs. The fine white dust that covers the streets in the dry season becomes a kind of mud-like mortar when the torrential rains descend, and the tatterdemalion shoeblacks reap their harvests. Most of the houses in the narrow streets are of two stories, and are painted with vivid primary colours so dear to Spanish eyes. When fresh applied these colours are blinding in their intensity, particularly when the sunlight falls upon them, but when faded and weather-stained they become really beautiful. The red of the pantiles on the roofs, the vivid greens and blues of balconies and doors, give a sparkle to this otherwise grey city. The windows of the lower floors are grilled with the usual iron or wooden bars, and the interiors are but poorly furnished, with one or two chairs and tables. Through open doors, green patios are seen filled with plants and palms, which cover much of the accumulated dirt, rubbish, and garbage. It is amidst these surroundings that families sit and take their siestas or oily smelling repasts. The rooms are dirty and the kitchens full of smoke or odours,