that they are practically unaided, so that the fruit is oftentimes full of flaws and will not pass for prime quality in the markets. Grapes are about the only fruit to which scientific methods of culture have as yet been applied. At Mendoza a change is made to the less comfortable narrow-gauge train, which conveys the traveller through the fastnesses of the Andes. The mountains are now plainly visible and the snow peaks can easily be distinguished from the dark background. The route leads first through grape and peach orchards, but these soon give place to the cactus and scrub growth which cling to the foothills. The Mendoza River, fed by the melting snows, tumbles along on its way down from the mountains and is crossed and recrossed many times. An occasional station is a somewhat forlorn outpost of human life. It consists principally of a water-tank and pile of fuel. The sole occupants visible are usually a woman, some children and a few goats, for the master of the house is probably at work. The solitudes are broken only by the shrill whistle of the locomotive. One enters a land of torrents, chasms, precipices and other freaky outbursts of nature. At a distance of about one hundred miles from Mendoza is the Puente del Inca, Bridge of the Incas, one of the famous natural bridges of the world, and near it are some mineral springs and a hotel. This bridge is of limestone formation, the span being about one hundred and fifty feet in length, with a width of one hundred and twenty feet, and is about sixty feet above the Mendoza River, which flows beneath. There are many legends and tales which are told about this curious bridge, so named because it is said to have been on an old trail used by those ancient people. [Illustration: CROSSING THE ANDES] A little further on is the station of Las Cuevas, the last stop in Argentine territory and the entrance to the tunnel under the mountain. The elevation at this place is in excess of ten thousand feet. There is a certain weird fascination about this spot so high up and seemingly so remote from all the hustle and bustle of the twentieth century. It is a place of contrariety. The contrast between light and shade and the different colours is very marked. There is no delicate and gentle shading of tints. There may be a black wall surmounted by the clear white snow; near by will be other rock walls, pinnacles or spires of green, violet, pink, blue or yellow. It is as though nature had set up a great kaleidoscope between the sun and the bulwark of rocks in order to flood this valley with colour.