In the pale dawn we saw the distant volcano of Fuego smoking. We rode on briskly in the cool morning, getting to our hotel at eight. Certainly this was the best and fastest ride we had in Guatemala. We took no time to rest, but at once proceeded to photograph the town. After almuerzo we climbed down to the Lago de Atitlan by a path about twelve hundred feet in perpendicular descent. It was a league and a half from town to shore. We were in another climate. Oranges, sugar-cane, avocados, limes, jocotes, and other fruits that cannot bear the cold of the town above us, flourished here. Walled on every side by vast cliffs, and overshadowed by high volcanoes, there were yet fertile valleys opening on the Lago here and there. Streams of considerable volume pour into it over rocky beds, or dash foaming down the high cliffs. Ten miles across was the ancient town of Atitlan, famed in legend and history. We stood in one of those mysterious places seemingly below the rest of the world, for we could see the water fall into this valley; but no human eye sees the outlet, nor are the waters, as in the valley of the Dead Sea, chiefly evaporated. The surface is evidently of nearly the same level at all seasons. In the opinion of some observers it is not improbable that this valley was an ancient crater, in the midst of which the volcano of Atitlan has risen,—much as Vesuvius has sprung from the ancient Somma; but the more probable origin of the lake is that the rising volcanoes dammed up a valley. In the lava are many cavities, and possibly through these the surplus waters flow, to reappear in the many copious springs of the southern shore. We were minded to try the truth of that strange assertion of Juarros that the waters are so cold that all who venture in have their limbs frost-bitten and swollen. The water was clear and sweet, and we waded out some distance before there was depth enough to swim. From the sandy bottom rose abundant bubbles,—probably of carbonic acid, as they had no smell. It was a most refreshing bath,—cool, but not so cold as the old historian reported. A new experience, as we stood drying on the shore, was a shave with pumice-stones, which abound here. A little care is needed to avoid taking the cuticle away with the hair; but these stone razors are admirable substitutes for Sheffield steel, and are always sharp. Water-fowl were abundant, and very tame. A good survey of this lake would be of great geological and antiquarian interest; and we will speak of its depth and formation in a later chapter. [Illustration: Boat on the Lago de Atitlan.] We should much have liked to cross the lake to the ruins on the other side; but the sight of the only boats on the lake, as well as our limited time, deterred us. I have never before seen boats constructed on these lines; the handles on the stern seeming necessary to lift the large, clumsy craft out of the water.