a native of Cordoba, and that I had come from the United States, without a word of warning she raised her hands, turned her eyes upward, and gave vent to a torrent of shrill, impassioned, apostrophe to her absent, artistic sister:  “A dios, hermana mia, Anastasia Torres, to think that your art-products should penetrate to those distant lands, to those remote portions of the world, to be the wonder and admiration of foreign eyes. A dios, hermana mia, Anastasia Torres!” This she repeated several times, in a voice high enough to be heard a block or two away.  Leaving her to continue her exclamations of joy and admiration over the fate of her sister’s workmanship, we returned to the plaza, where, in a house near by, we found a considerable stock of better work, consisting of decorated bowls, cups, toy jicaras, gourd-rattles, etc.  This brilliant work, characteristic of the town, is carried hundreds of miles into the States of Oaxaca, Tabasco, Vera Cruz, and into the Republic of Guatemala.  At two o’clock we hurried from the town in the midst of terrific heat.  As we rode out, over the dry and sandy road, we were impressed by the display of death; not only was there one cemetery, with its whitened walls and monuments, but at least three other burial places capped the little hillocks at the border of the town.  One, particularly attracted attention, as it resembled an ancient terraced pyramid, with a flight of steps up one side.

From the foothills, we struck up the flank of the great mountain mass itself.  Mounting higher and higher, a great panorama presented itself behind and below us, including the Chiapa valley, with the hills beyond it.  It was, however, merely extensive, and not particularly beautiful or picturesque.  As we followed the slope towards the crest, into the narrowing valley, the scene became bolder, until we were at the very edge of a mighty chasm, which yawned sheer at our side.  Following it, we saw the gorge suddenly shallow hundreds of feet by a vast precipice of limestone rock rising from its bottom.  Having passed this, we journeyed on up the canon, lessened in grandeur, but still presenting pretty bits of scenery.  Up to this point, limestone had prevailed, but from here on, we passed over various formations—­heavy beds of sand or clay, lying upon conglomerates and shales.  The road wound astonishingly, and at one point, coming out upon a hog’s-back ridge, we found that we had actually made a loop, and stood directly above where we had been some time before.  Near sunset, we reached the summit, and looked down upon the little town of Ixtapa, upon a high llano below, and seeming to be a half-hour’s ride distant.  Descending on to the llano, we found it intersected by deep and narrow gorges; following along the level, narrow ridge, surrounded by ravines on every side, except the one from which we had approached, we presently descended, along its flank, the bank of the deepest of these barrancas.  The sun