Within a short time we had reached the ruins of an enormous city called Tiahuanaco, which is said to date back many centuries before the Incan era. When discovered it was buried in the sand level with the surface of the plateau, but archæologists have excavated many of the larger buildings and brought to light ancient treasures of rare beauty. Later, in La Paz, we met a man named Poznaski who had done a great deal of work in this region. He had a remarkable collection of hundreds of skulls, pieces of pottery, gold ornaments, and well-preserved cloth. Among the ceramics was a “death’s head” of exquisite workmanship, life size, and painted in gorgeous colors. He considered it the finest bit of pottery ever discovered in Bolivia and stated that a North American museum was negotiating for its purchase at a price that ran into five figures. This, however, did not seem probable. As we neared La Paz, the great mountains of Illimani, Murarata, and Huana Potosi loomed constantly more lofty and forbidding before us. They are the patriarchs of the Bolivian Andes, and are twenty-two thousand five hundred and eighty-one, twenty-one thousand, and twenty thousand two hundred and eighty-nine feet high respectively. The summits of all three have been reached by venturesome exploration-parties, but the task of climbing the steep, slippery slopes perpetually covered with deep snow and swept by frigid gales is a trying one that is not often attempted. Huana Potosi, the more distant of the group has a flat top, contrasting conspicuously with the sharp, pointed summits of the other two. The Indians tell a legend that explains this peculiar formation. In the days of long ago, when the world was young, vapors enveloped all the earth; suddenly the sun-god appeared and, beaming down from heaven, caused the mists to become dissipated and vanish. Illimani awoke to life and from his dizzy height beheld the queenly Huana Potosi smiling up at him. At the same time, however, Murarata emerged from the clouds and beholding the beautiful Huana Potosi fell violently in love with her. Illimani became insanely jealous and in a blind fury hurled forth fire, smoke, and stones of great size at his rival’s head; the latter promptly replied in kind and fought valiantly. For days the earth quaked and trembled with the thunderous roar of the death-struggle, while heavy clouds covered the terrifying spectacle with a mantle of darkness. After a seemingly endless time the combat stopped; daylight returned, revealing an appalling state of affairs. Finding it impossible to vanquish the rival suitor, Illimani had beheaded his fair lady-love to prevent her from falling into the other’s hands. The many streams of water rushing down the steep sides of Illimani are but the tears of grief and remorse over his hasty action; thus he is doomed to mourn and weep until the end of time. The legend has doubtless been handed down through many generations and obviously refers to one of the