une nouvelle espèce de Pemelode, jetée par les volcans du Royaume de Quito.1 Since Humboldt's time this fable about the Pimelodus, or Cyclopium Cyclopum-a more appropriate name-has occupied an important place in works on natural history and all the marvels related of this extraordinary fish have been accepted as indisputable facts. The fable, however, is in keeping with that of monkey bridges, originated apparently by Acosta and endorsed later by such distinguished men of science as Jorge Juan and Antonio de Ulloa. But these stories about the ejecting of water, mud and fish from volcanoes are not the only ones of Velasco which the illustrious German naturalist has unwillingly helped to perpetuate. It well illustrates the extent of human credulity among even the wisest of men. As, at times bonus dormitat Homerus, so also does Humboldt fall into errors when he relies too much on reports regarding phenomena concerning which his informants were not competent to form an opinion. Had he, observes Wolf, had an opportunity of himself witnessing one of the eruptions of Cotopaxi, or the formation of one of those aqueous inundations, he never would have spoken of Cotopaxi as "a water volcano," nor would he have maintained that the mud avalanches, and still less the prenadillas, originated in its crater.2 There is just sufficient substratum of truth in these fables to account for their existence until the phenomena in ques1 In Tom. I of Voyage de Humboldt et Bonpland, Deuxieme Partie, Observations de Zoologie et de l'Anatomie Comparée, Paris, 1811. 2 Dr. Moritz Wagner, in his Naturwissenschaftliche Reisen im tropischen Amerika, p. 415, Stuttgart, 1870, remarks that Humboldt has deservedly been reproached for giving too much credence to the stories of the natives of the regions through which he passed concerning matters on which they were not competent to express a just opinion. This statement is remarkable, as it is rarely that a German permits himself to criticize any of the pronouncements of his illustrious countryman. Dr. Wagner is evidently one of those who do not love Cæsar less but love Rome more one who is no respecter of persons when there is question of the claims of truth and scientific accuracy. tion were so thoroughly examined—and that was only a few decades ago—that all the questions involved can now be considered as definitely settled. It is now known, thanks to the investigations of Reiss, Stübel and Wolf, that the floods of water, instead of coming from the crater of the volcano, which was supposed to be connected with subterranean reservoirs, are produced by the molten lava coming in contact with the ice and snow on its summit. The water, thus suddenly formed, rushing down the precipitous sides of the mountain, carries with it ashes and sand and forms the observed avalanches of mud. When these floods and avalanches encounter streams and rivers in their onward course they fill their channels to overflowing, when occasionally "multitudes of fish are borne from their native haunts and left stranded when the waters subside." 1 I shall never forget the surpassing beauty of Cotopaxi and the fascination it always exercised over me whenever it was in view. So perfectly formed and symmetrical is its summit that it has been called the "ideal volcano" of Ecuador. Its summit is a truncated cone, as perfect as if it had been turned on some cosmic lathe at the time of its formation in the Quaternary period. It is more symmetrical even than the cones of Mauna Loa and Popocatepetl, which are famous for the regular forms of their peaks. Its nearest rival, perhaps, is famous Fujiyama, the pride of Japan. When I last saw Cotopaxi it was illumined by the glories of the setting sun. The atmosphere was clear and serene -such as so often distinguishes these Andean highlandsand there was not a single cloud to obscure the immaculate mantle that draped its beauteous form. At first, the cone was radiantly white, like molten silver; then it changed to burnished gold; next it was a light rose that shaded into brilliant crimson, while the part below the snow line as 1 Wolf, op. cit., pp. 252-53 and 643 et seq., and Whymper, Travels Amongst the Great Andes of the Equator, p. 252 et seq. New York, 1892. sumed at first a delicate blue and then a deep indigo hue, terminating finally, as the sun dropped behind the western Cordillera, in a dark violet, the forerunner of the somber shadow of night. With truth could Villavicencio declare that, when seen under such circumstances, it is a spectacle that must "deeply stir the soul, even of those who are least inclined to contemplate with enthusiasm the great works of Nature." 1 Latacunga, like all other towns along the Guayaquil and Quito Railway, is beginning to exhibit signs of life and business activity, before unknown. Owing, however, to the devastations of Cotopaxi and the sterility of the soil of the surrounding country, it is not likely ever to become a commercial center of any importance. I am glad to be able to give a better report of its cleanliness than Hassaurek and Orton, who seemed to have followed Ida Pfeiffer in advertising it as headquarters for filth and fleas, which increase and multiply in spite of revolutions and earthquakes, and where it was impossible to find an inn in which the traveler could enjoy any comfort whatever. Truth compels me to say that I was more fortunate in my experience. Not only did I note an absence of the objectionable features complained of by previous travelers, but I found in the modest hotel in which I sought hospitality, a clean bed and an abundance of well-prepared, wholesome food. I can also make the same statement regarding all the hotels at which I stopped in Ecuador. They were all clean and well-kept, and, although none of them were at all comparable with the better class of hostelries in the United States and Europe, there was, in no instance, any reasonable cause for complaint. The only discomfort I suffered in Latacunga was from insufficiency of bed-clothing. Although I had two heavy blankets on my bed—as many as the natives ever require, apparently-I still felt cold. This was doubtless owing to my recent arrival from the hot lowlands. When I called for another blanket, the young 1 Op. cit., p. 46. peon who had charge of my room, said there were no more available. "The house is full of guests," he said, "and there is not a single spare blanket to be had." When I told him that I really needed another one, as I felt very cold, he naïvely suggested that I use my overcoat in lieu of a blanket. As there was nothing else to be done, I acted on the young Indian's suggestion, and he retired smiling, satisfied, no doubt, that he had helped me out of a grave difficulty. When, on leaving, I handed the good-natured soul a little gratificacion he felt convinced I was rewarding him for timely advice when, in his estimation, my wits were in a creel. Good little Ventura! How often have I recalled your bright, honest face, since your kindly Adios y feliz viaje! CHAPTER V QUITO BONITO At the time of our visit, Latacunga was the northern terminus of the railroad, but the work on the unfinished part was being pushed to a rapid completion. Owing, however, to unforeseen delays, the first train did not enter Quito until nearly a year later than the date called for by the contract. The usual way of making the journey from Latacunga to the capital, before the construction of the railway, was by stage-coach. But the journey by this method was, for many reasons, extremely trying and disagreeable, although the natives did not seem to mind it. Fortunately for us, an enterprising company had, a short time previously, put on this route a number of strong French motor-cars, and had, at the same time, engaged expert French chauffeurs to operate them. We lost no time in securing one of these vehicles, and were thus able to reach Quito with the maximum of speed and comfort. The road over which we passed was a most agreeable surprise to us, as it was by far the best we had yet seen anywhere in South America. It was one of the notable public works due to the enterprise of Ecuador's most illustrious president, Garcia Moreno. It is said to have cost $2,000,000 dollars, but it was worth it. As a well-built, well-kept highway, it compares favorably with the best thoroughfares of France and Germany, and that is high praise. With the exception of the last few miles, near the capital, where cobblestones are required, it is an ideal road for automobiles. It is broad and smooth, and although it crosses several mountain spurs and ridges, the grade is |