“You would not, if you were a Peruvian farmer, for these poetical birds are the very mischief in the grain-fields. They only troubled us by their melancholy wail. Their sad notes made this dreary solitude still more awful. “But I had a consolation. Before me rose grandly up the high peaks of the Andes. Their white tops seemed to touch the sky. “After a time, to my surprise, we began to descend. In a few hours more we were in a lovely valley, filled with villages, and farms, and trees, and flowers. I staid there two days enjoying the valley, and inspecting its curiosities, which I will tell you about some time.” “Was it warm in the valley?” “Yes, but not oppressively hot. It was high up on the hills; and then it was the month of August, and the winter season.” “Winter season in August?” “Of course. I was south of the equator, where the seasons, you know, are just the reverse of ours. We commenced the ascent of the mountains in high spirits. The wind was cool and bracing; and the vegetation all around us was of great interest to me. But it began to change rapidly; and, before night, we were among huge stones, and jagged rocks, where only evergreens were seen.” “How could you find the way?” “There was a rough kind of road over the mountains. In many places I should never have been able to find it at all, but the guide knew all the landmarks. “The first night we spent in an Indian cabin; and the next morning continued our journey, but we were not so gay as on the preceding day. It was bitter cold, and we needed all the wraps we had with us. I do not know how our two companions managed to wander away from the road, as they afterwards insisted that they did. I think the cold was too much for their courage, and they grew tired of their bargain, and made up their minds to fall back of us, and watch a chance to turn around and go home. The guide and I soon missed them, and we rode about in various directions, calling them, and searching for them. But it was easy enough for them to conceal themselves behind a rock, or in a ravine, and we could not find them. We gave them up at last, hoping they would find their way back again. “But we soon discovered that, in looking for them, we had lost _our_ way. For hours we wandered about, and my guide could not find a trace of the road. This was serious, for we had but a small stock of provisions, as there were Indian huts scattered all along the regular route, on which we had relied for supplies. We could not travel over this rough country at night; and a night’s exposure to the cold was not to be thought of without a shudder. And besides, we might never find our way out of this frightful solitude." “Was there nothing anywhere about to show that any kind of people lived there?”