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upper terrace without the expenditure of strength necessary to the climb.

Almost at the top of the craggy mount the designers of its transformation planned and constructed its most attractive features. Here upon a shelf cut from the solid rock is a theater of goodly proportions where in the summer months light opera is presented. Adjoining this is a restaurant where luncheons and cooling draughts may be procured, while all about the terrace presents a beautiful example of the gardener's art set in a background of Nature's walls. This terrace extends in varying width around a goodly portion of the mount and contains two memorials: One a statue of Santiago's founder, Valdivia the Invader, the other a memorial chapel erected to the memory of Don Benjamin Vicuna Mackenna, who did so much to make the Santa Lucia what it is to-day.

Upon the base of Valdivia's statue the

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Memorial Statue of Pedro de Valdivia, the Spanish Conquistador, near the Summit of the

Santa Lucia, Santiago de Chile

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One of the Beautiful Spots on the Santa Lucia, Santiago de Chile-Showing how the Staircases are Cut from the Solid Rock

man who gave them this delightful pleasure-ground, the sums which he advanced to the city of Santiago in order that the Santa Lucia might be completed have never been repaid; and one can hear blessings showered on Santiago's benefactor and in the next breath he will be told of the poverty which has overtaken this same benefactor's family.

From this upper terrace of the mount, by means of staircases cut through solid rock, the remainder of the ascent to the highest pinnacle of the Santa Lucia is made. Here has been erected an observatory, and from it can be secured a view which for sublime grandeur and variety of scene is equaled in but few accessible places in the world.

Lying almost at the feet of the observer is the city of Santiago, its red-tiled roofs forming a striking contrast against the green of the patios. Off to the south,

cutting the city in twain, stretches the broad Alameda, its rows of trees lying like a river of green between the gray walls of the buildings on its either side. To the north glistens the waters of the Mapocho as it winds around the base of the "Cerro San Cristobal" and disappears between the walls which confine its stream within the city limits. Beyond on every side may be traced the grand estates with their prolific vineyards, inclosed by hedges of eucalyptus, while here and there the waters of storage reservoirs give an effect like spatterings of silver on a verdant field.

Beyond the most distant of the estates the scene changes as one's eye climbs the heights of the Cordillera. First a sprinkling of timber, then a rocky waste, while far above all the snow-capped ridge, broken by the peaks of Juncal, San Francisco, Cerro de Plomo, and Tapungato, the latter raising its glistening crest to a

height of more than twenty thousand feet. In every direction there is something of interest which may be studied from this exceptional point of observation, and from this view it is easy to judge of the truth contained in the assertion that Chile is one of the most fertile spots on earth. Here in this valley, the view of which is commanded by the observatory on the summit of the Santa Lucia, the question of irrigation has been brought to a state of perfection and the result is an immense acreage which brings forth a full abundance of the fruits of the earth.

Looking down upon that vast plain it is easy to imagine with what joy the daring Valdivia welcomed the discovery of such a point of vantage and observation, lying as it does close beside one of the principal waterways of Chile. It is no wonder that he did not seek farther for a military base and established here his first, and what time has developed into the greatest, city in the Republic. Other cities have been and are yet striving to outdo Santiago, but even with the ad

vantage of locations upon the seacoast the pueblo founded by "el conquistador Pedro de Valdivia" stands in this twentieth century, as it did when the Spanish campfires lit up the banks of the Rio Mapocho, the first city of Chile.

And in its center rises this rock of Santa Lucia, which in the hands of the invader became a citadel of defense and now, at the touch of modern engineering skill, has been changed to a most beautiful pleasure-ground, bearing within its limits not only a memorial to its discoverer but also one to the Scotch-Chileno who saw the possibilities of the place and transformed the harsh and grizzly rocks into a modern fairyland. But I believe that every visitor would be more thoroughly impressed with Santa Lucia's beauties if Santiago's municipality would, by a return of the money which Don Mackenna expended on this delightful place, put forever aside the story that the philanthropist's family is now pressed for the want of a small portion of that gold which he advanced for the public good.

A WOOING

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FLASHING of scarlet and green in the sun,
A jingle of spurs on the dusty highway,
A lusty voice trolling an amorous song -
'Tis Gonzales comes wooing Pepita to-day.

The gay poppies nod on the slope of the hill,
And the breeze rushes by on its way to the sea;
The mocking-bird calls to his mate in the nest,
And Gonzales is coming, Pepita, to thee.

The adobe gleams white through the sheltering trees;
"Then haste thee, my pony, though fierce glows the sun;
There's the light in her eyes as she waits by the porch,
And the touch of her lips when the journey is done.'

A flashing of scarlet and green in the sun,
A clatter of hoofs 'neath the olive-trees gray,
An eager voice calling, "Carita, que tal?"-
'Tis Gonzales comes wooing Pepita to-day.

Grace Atherton Dennen.

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(THE SWEET DREAM OF MEXICO)

BY J. MAYNE BALTIMORE

What makes the light foot come and go More nimbly than the fandango?

SCENE: Beneath the emerald boughs of an orange-grove in the sunny and of Montezuma, of the nopal and maguey; Queen Luna, near her full, riding like a glorious empress through the heavens; the air laden with the mingled odors of flowers and foliage; through the branches overhead the soft tropical winds sigh and rustle; over the wide expanse of Mexican landscape hangs a dreamy haze, full of passion and tender romance, with just a touch of mysterious loneliness.

TIME: After the gloaming had deepened into twilight, and when the stars were stealthily stealing forth from their hidingplaces.

OCCASION: A Spanish fandango.

A

GATHERING of pretty señoritas and somber-hued señores. A confused mingling of voices. The lingual medley falls gently on the ear; for in an instant one recognizes the soft, mellifluous accents of that most musical of all languages-the Iberian.

Amidst the dark shadows of the fragrant orange-trees and across the narrow and tortuous aisles of light flit forms of men and women. Silks and satins rustle; brilliant gems scintillate with dazzling brightness; rebosas flutter in the soft night-winds; long raven tresses vie with the flash of dark and languorous eyesorbs which dart their restless glances here and there in search of some favorite.

Many tall, dark forms are seen mingling with the brilliantly attired doncellas. They are clad in both somber and bright colors. There is the gleam of lacquered botas, and the suggestive glitter of cold, cruel steel. For these Spanish gallants, these haughty hidalgos, are generally armed with either the death-dealing stiletto or slender sidesword (rapier). Many have faces that are open, frank, and happy. Others have

scowling visages, with fiercely twirled mustaches.

The scene is a miniature Babel, weird and fascinating. The night, the moon, the quivering foliage, the exquisite permeating fragrance, the glitter, the somber and brilliant trappings, the flitting forms, the courtier-like atmosphere, vivacious beauty and sullen jealousy contrasted, the delicate and sensuous spirit which broods over all, invest the scene with a certain power and touch not to be described.

Ah! the musicians have arrived at last! There is a hurrying and scurrying of feet; "viva el musico," and "bueno, muy bueno," are heard from many pretty lips.

No lights needed? Bah! Spanish musicians scorn artificial light when such a superb moon is overhead. Besides, they always play by ear. Six musicians, wearing flaring calzonas, ornamented with bright silver buttons, long serapes a la militaire, with broad-brimmed, slouching sombreros, range themselves under the spreading boughs of an ample orange-tree. With dexterous fingers they begin to strum upon the strings of their instruments.

Three mandolins and three guitars (the pride and glory of the true Mexican lover) compose the orchestra. All the while the silvery moonbeams fall athwart the trunks and slender branches of the orange, revealing the dark-green leaves, the rich golden fruit, and the myriads of snowy petals.

Here is all that love, romance, and poetry could wish-beauty, passion, and music.

But the instruments are now in tune. The signal is given. See! they are wheeling and whirling into line. Out from the mysterious depths of shadow quickly emerge the señoritas and the gallant señores, and with the rising and falling of the musical cadence, the fandango begins in real earnest.

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