WHEN the present city of Panama was founded in 1673, its architects and builders in laying out the new town fixed its location up the rocky peninsula which juts out into the sea at the foot of Ancon hill. They had a vivid recollection of the fate that had overtaken the old city, and were determined that the new one should offer a more formidable front to any invading foe, and so strongly fortified was the new city that with the exception of Cartagena it was the most impregnable fortress in the whole of South America. Shortly after the city was founded it became the capital of Terra Firma, and it was hoped by the founders that the surrounding provinces of Panama, Darien, and Veragua would contribute largely to its importance and support. But the Indians of the Darien province, regaining their independence, became uncontrollable, and the gold mines in the other provinces proved, after extended trials, to be unremunerative, so that the new city was dependent chiefly upon the pearl fisheries, which are to this day of considerable importance to it. The pearls of Panama are of fine quality and remarkable size, and although the fashions of different ages have undergone changes with regard to jewels, the fisheries have, in spite of the increasing popularity of diamonds, been able to hold their own by opening up new markets in Peru and Southern America. The real reason, however, of the importance of the new city was the unique position it occupied. It rapidly became the market for the products of the rich countries on the Pacific coast, and fleets of small sailing craft were ever arriving at the port laden with valuable merchandise. Great stores were built for the reception of the goods until the mule trains were ready to convey them across the isthmus, en route for Spain. Many of the older buildings are now in ruins, but what

remains affords ample evidence of the city’s former splendour. With the decay of piracy the necessity of keeping up the earlier standards of resistance ceased and many of the older buildings were allowed to fall into decay. Even the old city wall has dwindled until only a portion about a quarter of a mile in length remains. This is a favourite playground of the children, and when the sun is setting, the older people of the poorer classes rest upon the worn-out benches that project from the stone parapets, enjoying the cooling breezes that evening brings. Legend has it that Philip V of Spain was observed by his courtiers gazing into the distance that lay in the direction of the new colonies, and when one of his ministers asked him what he strained his eyes to behold, the King, with a merry twinkle in his eye, replied that “he was trying to discern the walls of Panama, for they had cost so much, that surely they must be visible even from Spain.” The whole of the old town is built of stone quarried from the volcanic rocks in the vicinity; the walls of most of the buildings are from three to four feet in thickness, with the windows placed high up from the ground; the thick doors are plentifully studded with huge nails, and bound by stout iron bands. The cathedrals and churches are massive and liberally supplied with heavy buttresses; in fact, they look more like fortresses than places of worship; and there are so many of them that one might easily fall into the error of believing that the founders of the city and early inhabitants were a very religious community. There is one church in the Calle San JosÉ that I visited frequently during the heat of the day, the cool shade it afforded was a welcome contrast to the hot glare of the streets; and although I have been in it many times, I never saw more than two or, at the most, three persons in it at the same time. It has an earthy smell, and is damp, cool, and fusty. Round the edifice altars stand out in harsh relief from the austere whitewashed walls. Carved figures of saints draped in dusty raiment that was once brilliant gave the place an aspect of a cheap waxworks. The small windows high up in the walls let in a silvery light that diffused itself through the interior. The pews or forms arranged down the centre of the aisle were in the last stages of decay, so frail and rotten that they could not support any substantial weight. Occasionally a negress with a bright-coloured turban and long, trailing gown would sail into the gloom and glide noiselessly up to one of the many altars, in front of which she would kneel and stare about as if bewildered. But I was generally alone in the great building, sometimes catching glimpses of the aged priest, who, with robes tucked up, was occupied in sweeping the damp, stone floor, a pathetic reminder of the waning power of Holy Church in the city. At Christmas time there is created in this church a huge

toy-like representation of the Nativity, with small dolls crudely suggesting the shepherds and the Magi visiting the manger. A great array of candles are set in front and all around the tawdry show, and all day long crowds of the poorer classes stand gazing spellbound at the marvel. All the other churches in the city have some similar exhibition during Christmas week, and the crowds go from one to another, eager to see all they can for nothing. The church of La Merced, which stands in the Calle Real, in what used to be the extreme limit of the city, is built from the materials gathered at the ruins of the old church of the same name that stood in the ancient city of Panama. The church stands at a street corner, and on the left of the main entrance, occupying the corner of the building, is a small chapel, some sixteen feet square, with a door from either street. At all times some worshipper is to be found inside this little sanctuary, for so conveniently situated is it that passers-by have only to step a few feet out of their way to be within its walls. Women with great bundles on their heads step in, cross themselves, mutter a word or two, and are not detained more than a few seconds by their devotions; whilst the man of business and small urchins rush through one door and out at the other, to save the turning at the corner of the street. The oldest church in the city, that of San Felipi Nevi, has the date “1688” carved on a shield above its entrance, but the more modern buildings that have sprung up around it almost hide it from view. Its walls are about five feet in thickness, which doubtless accounts for it still standing. The cathedral in the Central Plaza, the largest building in the city, is in a very good state of repair, and is generally well attended. It has two lofty towers surmounted with conical domes covered with oyster-shells, which glisten and sparkle in the sun. The front of the church is richly moulded and faced with flat, fluted, and engaged columns. In the niches sculptured figures representing the twelve apostles are placed, while at the top, in the centre, is placed an effigy of the Virgin. The whole building is painted over with a disagreeable colour-wash of saffron hue, an act of vandalism that could only occur in a country that pays little or no regard to the upkeep of its public buildings. Another instance of the scant attention and regard for ancient monuments can be seen in the ruins of the once noble church of St. Dominic. The roof of this large building has long since disappeared, probably during one of the numerous fires that have played such havoc in the city. There remains, however, in this church a most extraordinary specimen of building construction—a large arch of over sixty feet span, near the principal entrance, has caused much discussion amongst engineers and architects. It is practically flat, having no other support than its terminal columns. How it has survived the earthquake shocks that have from time to time visited the city is a mystery. Some experts have pointed to it as evidence that no very serious tremors can ever have taken place since it was built. But, however this may be, it is certainly an ingenious piece of construction, probably unique. A legend obtains currency amongst the better informed natives to the effect that before success attended the labours of the builders three failures befell them. On the last occasion the designer of the arch

stood underneath it and proclaimed it to be a sound piece of construction if it did not fall upon him. It hardly needed the pious architect to point out that something was indeed seriously wrong with the work if it did fall and kill him. But silly legends abound in Latin America as well as in other parts of the globe. The church of St. Dominic must have had an imposing appearance in its early youth, for even the ravages of time and weather have failed to rob it of distinction, and the thick, tropical vegetation that now runs wild over its crumbling walls suggests forcibly that nature is more anxious to hide decay than man is to prevent it. The city has undergone many changes since its birth, and the regular symmetrical design that was in earlier times adhered to by its builders has been so modified and altered by subsequent designers that it is with difficulty that we can form an idea of its earlier aspect. Whenever fire and time have destroyed buildings, no effort has been made to rebuild in the substantial early manner. The old fortifications have nearly all disappeared, and the city has grown far beyond the limits which they set to its extension. Flimsy structures are now erected of timber framework covered with plaster, and treated with a coat of whitewash. The sham is rampant. How the shade of Ruskin would writhe in agony should it chance in its wanderings to visit Panama, where stucco masquerades as stone. A month or two at most of the varying climatic conditions of alternate dry and damp heat and the most pretentious mansions present a disreputable aspect. The colour schemes which are attempted by the decorators are novel and discordant. The half-formed, undeveloped, Æsthetic sense of the Latin American is more amazing than the crudest efforts in art of the rudest savages. A striking instance of perverted colour sense was displayed by a prominent citizen during the memorable visit of President Roosevelt. In honour of the unique occasion, this enterprising gentleman caused the exterior of his house to be covered with a hideous magenta water-wash, ornamental parts being picked out in a canary yellow. The originality of this scheme attracted much attention; and although the few judicious grieved, the masses were delighted.