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While all hearts are linked in a chain of love,
That not fate nor the tides of years can move.

The Sovereign ceased. A scene of wild delight
Applause-full followed till the crystal height
Rang back the sound, while fays on shining wing
Above the throne moved gaily, scattering

About their queen rare floral sweets whose blooms
Imbued the air with delicate perfumes.

As yet the dwellers in this mystic sphere
Had heeded not their stranger visitor,
Save to make way where'er he chanced to pass,
Courtesying aside with smiles and airy grace.
But now beneath the vaulted height appeared,
Where the great dome its crystal beauty reared,
A form majestic, o'er whose brow serene
A halo shone, crowned with a star between,
And robed in light which brighter as it came
Soon dazzling beamed, like to a golden flame.
Its gaze was fixed upon the stranger guest,
Wherein alone high love was manifest,
Yet did it seem as its full glory filled
The scene-quick at its radiant advent stilled
To breathless calm-all in its glance to hold
And to transfigure into shimmering gold.
Then 'neath its power, soon all potential grown,
The fairy court, its populace, the throne
To formless light seemed fused—

And Kaspar woke

As on his face, through the church windows, broke
The rising sun; the sun of Christmas Day,
Flooding all Earth with its resplendent ray!

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THE
HE coast of the department of

Arequipa in Lower Peru, between the sixteenth and eighteenth degrees of latitude, would present a most desolate uniformity of aridity but for certain fertile valleys which break the dreary monotony of the lomas, or barren ridges, that line the shore of the Pacific for three hundred and twenty miles. The fairest and most tropical of these valleys is that of Tambo, which begins at Mollendo beach and extends for fifteen leagues up to the heights of Puquina on the slope of the Western Andes. It is enclosed narrowly between a double chain of rocky hills, and rises gradually from the ocean-level to an eleva

tion of six thousand seven hundred and fifty feet. The Tambo River flows through it and empties into the Pacific.

It was from this lovely valley of Tambo that, toward the end of a certain October, Paul Marcoy, the French traveller in Peru, to whom the world owes much of its later knowledge of that country, started on a long journey across the sierra region to explore the Rio Apurimac from its source, in Lake Vilafro, at the base of the eastern slope of the Andes, to its junction with the Rio Aquillabamba or Urubamba a journey which led him across the sierra and up the valley of Huarancalqui to Cerro Melchior, in the Great Pajonal.

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in the northern part of the province. This person, Pierre Leroux by name, needs an introduction to the reader, for he was destined to become Marcoy's travelling companion in his excursion, and to share with him in his experiences, pleasant and otherwise, up to the summit of Cerro Melchior. He was a native of Besançon, and had

PIERRE LEROUX.

been living in Peru for fifteen years, during which time he had acquired and lost two fortunes in mining operations. As Marcoy has sketched him, with pen and pencil, we are shown a man of forty-five years of age, tall, with a countenance at once frank and intelligent, robust in health, sinewy of limb, and with the iron will of one who, having marked out a goal, seeks it unmindful of obstacles. He had given to his plantation the name of Tambochico, or 'Little Tambo.'

Leroux's mind at the moment of Marcoy's appearance in the valley was absorbed in a project of introducing on his hacienda the use of certain machinery for cleaning his rice and cotton. He had ordered it a year before, at a cost of thirty thousand dollars, from New York, through the British consulat Islay, a port about fifteen miles higher up the coast, and was now impatiently expecting its arrival, together with that of the ready-made pine-wood sheds intended to house the machines. Once a week he went to Islay to make inquiries, leaving Tam

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at Ayacucho in the Peruvian war of independence. The next was owned by an Englishman; and the third, a rice, cotton and sugar plantation, was the property of a friend of Marcoy, whose acquaintance he had made five years before, at a place called Caraveli,

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36

The

particular aroused his interest, and he
often stopped in his walk to converse
with these people on the subject of
the life they led there, and of their
olive-culture and its revenues.
family had erected its dwelling among
the olive trees, and although its mem-
bers had all the outward appearance
of ill-health and poverty, they seemed
to be happy and contented, seated
under their simple roof of mats, up-
held by four posts, and with their
household utensils scattered about
them. They told Marcoy that their
home was in the upper part of the
valley, and that the simple shelter
under which they received him was
merely their temporary camping-out
residence. Like all the other proprie-
tors of the olive and fig plantations,
they remained away from their plan-
tation for eleven months of the year,
leaving the trees to the care of Provi-
dence the twelfth month, when the
time to collect the crop had come,
they passed where Marcoy found
them.

From his friends of the olivares, our traveller would stroll a few hundred yards higher up the valley to chat with his acquaintances of the highuerales. The male adult owners of the fig plantations were generally absent, as they preferred to abandon the conjugal roof and hire themselves out as labourers to the large planters of the valley, some of them returning each night and others only at the end of the week.

The women of the family meanwhile attended to the gathering of the figs and their preparation, in a dried state, for the markets of the sierra towns, or engaged in the manufacture of a sort of violet-coloured wine, made from the figs, which the people call chimbango. This fig wine is sweet and agreeable to the taste, and of moderately intoxicating powers, and is sold at a cuartillo (about three cents) a quart.

Still higher up the valley, this cultivated zone was succeeded by a sandy tract, irregularly interspersed with

low ridges of the kind which, under
the name of lomas, characterizes the
The
physical features of the coast.
normal barrenness of these hills is
changed from May to October, during
the season of fogs, into fertilty, for
the humidity causes a green sward to
appear, and a multitude of charming
flowers spring up and cover their sur-
face. In the old days, the gay classes
of the population of the sierras were
wont to resort, during the period from
May to October, to this spot, ostensi-
bly to indulge in sea bathing, but
really to enjoy a merry-making season
as frantic and fantastic as any Vene-
tian carnival of the past. Tents were
pitched among the hills, and the festi-
val lasted for a month or two, during
which time the lomas, accustomed
only to the melancholy sound of the
surf beating against the shore, and
the murmur of the passing wind,
echoed the notes of the guitar, the
shouts of the revellers, and their joy-
ous songs. Strange to
Strange to say, however
-a circumstance probably unknown
to those thoughtless pleasure-seekers
of the sierra-this part of the valley is
the burial-place of thousands of Indians
of both sexes and of all ages, whose
bodies were deposited there before the
Spanish conquest, and, as is supposed,
during the reigns of the last incas.
The bodies lie in trenches barely three
feet from the surface. In the majority
of cases they are extended on their
backs, with their heads toward the
rising sun, the object of their rever-
ence in life. Others are found in
various constrained attitudes-some
as if sitting with their elbows resting
on their knees; and the closed hands
set in the eyeless sockets. Some of
the bodies are nude, others are
swathed in woollen rags, or in a coarse
kind of drawers, woven from the sipa,
a grass that grows on the mountains.
In the trenches, laid beside them the
implements, weapons and adornments
which belonged to them in life, and
which, in the belief of the survivors,
would he needed by them after death.

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