another ocean still to be traversed, and to roll us yet wider asunder; and then this war-cloud on the horizon! But there is one separation, one which awaits us all, still wider than this-the chasm of the grave. Over that no signals extend, and no messenger-bird hath winged its way. I have walked in its pale light for years, hovering between the sun and a total eclipse.

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CHAPTER VI.

SKETCHES OF VALPARAISO.

ASPECT OF THE CITY.-GROUPS ON THE QUAY.-CHILIAN HORSEMANSHIP.THE WOMEN.-HUTS OF THE NATIVES.-AMERICAN AND ENGLISH SOCIETY.-OPERA-HOUSE. THE TERTULIA.-MODE OF TRAVELLING.-POLICE OF THE CITY.-VISITS FROM THE SHORE.-FEUDAL SYSTEM.-THE CLERGY. THE BIBLE IN CHILI.-THE CONFESSIONAL-BURIAL GROUND. THE INDIAN MOTHER.-POLITICAL CONDITION OF CHILI.-FAREWELL TO VALPARAISO.

Where Valparaiso's cliffs and flowers,

In mirrored wildness, sweep

Their shadows round the mermaid's bowers,

Our steadfast anchors sleep.

SATURDAY, MARCH 7. Valparaiso, at a first glance, instead of justifying the name it bears-the vale of Paradise-might rather be called some outpost of purgatory. Its wild crags, its scorched hills, and dark glens might well be supposed to lead to that intermediate abode of condemned spirits. You are puzzled to know why a city should be there. Without encroaching on the sea, there is hardly room enough, between the base of the steep acclivities and the surge, to set up a fisherman's hut. The harbor is but little better than an open roadstead. A norther is an admonition to all vessels to slip their cables.

Yet Valparaiso is a city, and one which, having

once seen, you will never forget. It will stand alone in your after-dreams like Jacob's ladder. Like the rounds in that airy vision, its buildings ascend, roof over roof, till they seem to topple in the sky. One violent shake of an earthquake would precipitate the whole into the sea. And yet these terrible visitations are constantly throwing out their premonitions. There is not a building whose walls have not vibrated to their force. There is not a rock on which they rest, but is of volcanic origin. The soaring peaks of the Cordilleras, which overhang them, rest on craters that may at any moment throw thein heaven-high. And yet who does not sleep sound in Valparaiso? Such is peril, when it has become an old familiar acquaintance.

We landed from our boat on the jetty, which has been thrown out from the beach to prevent the necessity of debarking in the surf. The quay was alive with boatmen, cracking their jokes over their water-melons and coarse bread. A fat friar was seen straying among them, willing to shrive the most wayward for a large melon. One fellow, who looked as if he had obliquities enough to justify some effacing process, made light of the proffered shrift. He thought a green melon would pay.

Near by sat a Chilano on a stone, which swelled up from the pavement, tantalizing the strings of a guitar, while a little cloud of tobacco-smoke curled