The appearance of the city of Valparaiso was a distinct disappointment to those on the fleet who had not seen it before. Its name means a Vale of Paradise. Was it intended as mockery? One travel writer has said that nature never meant that a city should be planted there. The hills come down so near to the water that there is room for only four or five streets parallel with it. The city is strung along the harbor for more than two miles. To find other room for itself it has to climb steep hills and build homes on terraces. The streams have made great gullies, or barrancas, in their courses to the sea, and these gulches give a disjointed appearance to the place. There seems to be no continuity about it. It is irregular, tilted here and there and most of the hills have to be overcome with steep railroads, like those which climb the hills of Pittsburg or Cincinnati. A line of railroad with English carriages runs along the waterfront. The railroad finds an opening, not visible from the harbor, where it may escape the girdle of the hills. There seem to be few houses around the waterfront. There was little or no color in the buildings. All seemed to be made of grayish mud. There was no visible verdure in the town. The hills were brown, as if blighted by a great drought. All was bleak and bare and dusty. The place looked barren and almost cheerless. A greater contrast to hill and mountain adorned Rio de Janeiro, the last large city we saw, heavy with its mantle of green, could not be imagined than this sun-baked, brown collection of dull-colored buildings constituting a great seaport. The effects of the earthquake of last year could be seen here and there with a glass. Walls were broken and buildings toppled over. This added all the more to the forlorn appearance of the place, but it gave point to the exuberant welcome which its people gave to the fleet.