The journey from Santiago to Buenos Aires by the passage of the Cordillera, in former days seldom undertaken between May and October save by the hardy mail-carriers, may, since the opening of the railroad in 1910, generally be accomplished in any month of the year. Sometimes, however, traffic is temporarily suspended on account of snow-slides blocking the track on the Chilian side of the tunnel. Such inconvenience, oftener arising in the southern winter or early spring, will doubtless in time be obviated by the building of snow-sheds along the dangerous sections, as has been done in the United States. At present, from July to December it may be well to inquire about conditions before purchasing a ticket, though prolonged suspension of traffic is exceptional.

The excursion across the Andes, less fatiguing than formerly, is also far less exciting. The comfortable safety of a car ride through the tunnel is tame indeed in comparison with the passage by coach or muleback over the cumbre 2000 feet above. Yet as prosaic comfort is ever more popular than unusual and adventurous experience, tourists today by thousands and tens of thousands make the journey where formerly passed tens and hundreds. Still, even to the gazer from a car window the excursion is memorable; to the lover of sublime grandeur the day affords a rare joy. Very different is this ride from those across the mountains farther north. Until the completion of the line from Chimbote up the Huailas Valley, the Oroya railroad alone will bear comparison with this. Nor need comparison be made. Each is truly an elevating experience and wholly unlike the other.

An afternoon departure from Santiago is customary, often as late as 6.15 p.m. The night must be spent at Los Andes whence the start is made in the early morning. With ample time at one’s disposal, it is well to take a forenoon train from Santiago to have a few hours at the pleasant Chilian summer resort which affords opportunities for many delightful strolls, while the scenery along the way makes a daylight journey desirable. The monument to the Clark Brothers unveiled at Los Andes, October 22, 1911, is a worthy honor to the initiators of this great railway. As early as 1870 they applied for a concession, though it was 1886 before the first was received; while they were unable to complete the work, they have the credit of its beginning. After the Casa Grace took charge on the Chilian side good progress was made. In 1906 it was arranged to pierce the tunnel under one control, and the task was accomplished in time for the Argentine Centennial in 1910. As far as Llai-Llai, where connection is made with the train from Valparaiso, the route lies north along the valley over the road which has previously been traversed. At the junction, venders of delicious fruit are ever on hand selling, according to the season, pears, peaches, oranges, grapes, cherries, or figs, at prices calculated to tempt the hungry tourist. Llai-Llai is a pleasant little town of about 6000 people, at a height of 2625 feet above the sea. San Felipe, somewhat larger, is passed before reaching (to use the full name), Santa Rosa de los Andes.

A few rods from the station is the hotel where the night is passed. The town boasts of another, but through travelers prefer the pleasant little establishment, often over-crowded, from the rear of which the train early in the morning departs. In the summer the climate of Los Andes is delightful, the evenings always cool; at other seasons the nights are cold and frosty. Leave word in the office when you wish to be called, or you may be overlooked and miss your train or your coffee, which is not agreeable. The cars are apt to be full, so it is well to hasten, if friends wish seats together, or at times to obtain any at all.

The track follows the Aconcagua River, on which Los Andes is situated, up a beautiful valley, after 8 or 10 miles growing narrower between steeper walls. From luxuriant vegetation to bare rocks and snow, from beauty to grandeur, the change is quickly made. The river becomes rapidly smaller as we pass above the merry little streams which contribute to its madly rushing torrent. One bridge is called the Puente de las Viscachas, these being rabbit-like animals resembling the chinchilla but with coarser fur. The rocks of varying hue in sunlight and shadow, cliffs and gorges, and the foaming stream continually attract the eye. A hundred yards beyond the station, Los Loros, is the place called Salto del Soldado, the Soldier’s Leap, to see which one must keep a sharp lookout on the left, the train passing on a shelf with the stream 60 feet below. Various tales are told of the origin of the name, one that in the War of Independence a patriot escaped from the enemy by leaping the narrow gorge which is crossed by the train on a bridge. At the station, Rio Blanco, White River, a stream of that name joins the Aconcagua. Not far beyond is Guardia Vieja, where for more than two centuries a sentry or watchman has been stationed for the protection of the traveler, a necessary though inadequate safe-guard, as in the old days bandits sometimes lay in wait even for parties of considerable size. Robberies were not infrequent and murders were by no means rare.

In ascending the Visp Valley to Zermatt by the aid of the rack and pinion system, also employed on the Andine, a height of 3000 feet is gained in a distance of 28 miles. On this road 7000 feet are climbed in 35 miles, 2000 of these in the last 8 to Juncal, a rapid ascent for a traffic as distinguished from a purely mountain railway. Juncal is noteworthy, as the place where formerly the night was spent by those tourists and business men designing in the early dawn to set out on saddle animal or in mountain wagon for the summit and the other side. Farther on is a tranquil little lake, above 9000 feet, an opalescent gem, at times turquoise or sapphire, called the Lago del Inca. Now the track makes a great curve into an immense couloir, passing at the foot or along the side of cliffs or steep slopes, where, as in places lower down, rocks small and large seem ready to fall, as others have already descended. From the farther side of the great curve we soon look across at the track 1000 feet beneath. We gaze in admiration upon the splendid gloomy cliffs with tints of slate color from blue-gray to black, and on rocks with delicate hues of pink and cream, splashed with red and bronze or green; intermingled with these are patches of pure white snow. Observation cars would greatly increase the pleasure. Too soon at Caracoles, at a height of 10,486 feet, the tunnel’s portal is reached and the splendor of the majestic scene has vanished. Now for almost two miles, to be exact, 10,385 feet, the train goes on through the backbone of the continent at an elevation about the same as the tunnel’s length. Near the center, the international boundary is passed; hence, after ten minutes of darkness, coming once more to daylight, one is in the great country of Argentina on the east side of the Andes, still in a vast wilderness of gorges, rocks, and peaks of multifarious shapes and colors, diversified by immense fields of snow, with many brief visions of grandeur which one would fain tarry to enjoy. Fortunate the traveler, who, 7 or 8 miles below Las Cuevas, has at the head of a side valley at the north a glimpse of colossal Aconcagua 15 miles away, a long ridge of snow arching into two domes, with a sheer drop of 10,000 feet on its black southern wall; and farther on a sight of Tupungato, 30 miles away at the south: both mountains first climbed in 1897 by the Fitzgerald Expedition, though he unfortunately was compelled by mountain sickness to forego the satisfaction of attaining either summit himself. The first to reach the supposed apex of the Western Hemisphere, the top of Aconcagua, according to the latest measurement, 22,817 feet, was Matias Zurbriggen, the celebrated Swiss guide, who in almost every land has led English and Americans to the summits of noted mountains. Alone, January 14, 1897, he gained this height, and there erected a stone man as is the custom where possible. In April of the same year, the first ascent of Tupungato, 21,451 feet, was made, also by Zurbriggen, and the Englishman, Vines.

Puenta del Inca. The first station in Argentina is Las Cuevas: then we drop quickly to Puenta del Inca where a few moments are allowed for tea. The contrast between the green and luxuriant vegetation of the Chilian side and the barrenness of the Argentine is singularly opposite to that in Peru, where the western slopes of the Andes are mostly desert while the eastern are clothed with the richest verdure. At Puenta del Inca is a curious formation from which the place is named, a natural bridge of stratified rock, one of nature’s marvels. The stream has perforated a bank about 20 feet thick so as to form, 80 feet above the river, a fine arched bridge, at the top 150 feet long and 20 wide, and nearly 30 feet thick. The piers have been strengthened by calcareous deposits from springs which gush from the earth just at the bridge. On the left bank of the stream a path of steps partly cut in the rocks leads down to hot waters. First comes the Bath of Venus, an effective grotto of white stalactites. Next is the Champagne Spring, its foaming waters revealing a considerable pressure from below. Among other warm springs beyond is one called Mercury. On all sides gush forth these waters cold, hot, and tepid, saturated with carbonic acid gas; the Venus is 86°, the Champagne 93°, the same when the path is covered with six feet of snow. The waters are superior to the more noted Vichy in containing twice the quantity of carbonic acid, hence greater effervescence; and five times as much iron. This renders them a real treasure, a few months’ treatment causing maladies to disappear (they say) upon which the Vichy waters make no impression. The iron, salts, and gas of the waters make them efficacious in gout, rheumatism, and severe stomach affections, as well as an excellent tonic for those who believe such to be required. Sulphur, good for skin diseases, is also present. The Hotel del Inca affords comfortable accommodations (including a billiard room); all that could be expected at an altitude of 8924 feet, for a daily fee of six pesos ($2.64) with some extras.

One who is ambitious to ascend one of the lofty peaks near by, or who would merely stroll to a lesser height to gaze upon those above, or who would wander in strange valleys and on ragged slopes will here find the most favorable headquarters for his rambles, as well as cure for many ailments. While the great mountains, Aconcagua and Tupungato, no longer afford opportunity for a first ascent, there are many other peaks of various altitudes, the summits of which are yet untrodden; one, lofty Mercedario, about 22,000 feet, to the north of Aconcagua, believed by some to be second in height to that alone. Expert climbers only should attempt exploits of such magnitude, and these not without Alpine equipment and more; for to the ordinary paraphernalia of proper shoes, ropes, and ice axes must be added tents, sleeping bags, etc. The season for climbing here is not the same as in Peru and Bolivia, but during the summer of this region, December and January. Strange to say, although in the Temperate Zone, so vastly farther from the equator, these mountains have infinitely less snow upon their slopes than have HuascarÁn and Illampu. They are therefore much easier to climb, making Swiss guides not an imperative necessity, so far as the technical difficulties are concerned: though whether reliable companions as porters could be secured upon the ground is an extremely doubtful matter.

But on this journey by rail how much has one missed! Discomfort indeed has been avoided; but at the cost of a glorious and exciting experience. In former days, what a rush and bustle at Juncal! in the chilly hour between three and four a.m., when an army of pleasure and of business travelers hurried to secure places in the mountain wagons, or to select a gentle and sturdy animal for the seven hours’ ride. The coach drivers were reckless Jehus who madly raced for the summit and then for the lower goal, amid a caravan of freight wagons, baggage animals, and riders, the latter to their joy soon left behind. Though the roads were called good they were deep with sand, and have no such great curves as the roads over Alpine passes. Short zigzags with acute angles, a roadbed rough with ruts and stones, few walls at the corners where a slip over the edge would mean a roll of a few thousand feet, made a ride in a swaying coach behind horses going at a gallop assuredly exciting to people with any nerves. Some, once embarked and unable to escape, would turn their thoughts from danger to admiration of the scenery, reflecting perhaps that accidents were rare. The view of mighty walls, of glaciers near at hand, of distant glorious mountains; the fine pure air ever colder, though alas! ever thinner, was a blissful experience for those who could enjoy it; but not for the faint-hearted either literally or figuratively. Here and there one would grow faint, become unconscious, perhaps even pitch out of the wagon: oftener a stalwart man than a frail woman. On they would go, their friends uncertain whether a temporary weakness or a serious, possibly fatal affection was attacking the victim.

At last the cumbre or highest point was reached, 12,796 feet above the sea; not a sharp ridge, but a nearly level stretch a quarter of a mile across among the massive hills and mountains: a tremendous range of gloomy, desolate, forbidding peaks, or a splendid rampart of majestic, glorious mountains, according to the soul and mood of the spectator. Here in the midst of this great solitude is the most impressive monument, men say, in all the world, the Christ of the Andes, a bronze figure of Christ of heroic size, 26 feet, one hand outstretched in blessing, the other supporting a still higher cross. The circumstance of its erection, the sentiment involved, as well as the unique position of the monument, make it the most remarkable in the world’s history.

Chile and Argentina in 1900 were on the verge of war over a boundary dispute involving 80,000 square miles of territory in the Patagonian country. Immense sums expended for warships and other preparations were the cause of abnormally high taxes, the products of which were needed rather for the development of physical resources and of education. The British Ministers employed their good offices and two bishops, one of each country, traveled among their towns and villages preaching the cause of Peace and Arbitration. Bishop Benavente in Buenos Aires, on Easter Sunday 1900, first suggested the erecting of a statue of Christ upon the boundary, to prevent if possible any recurrence of strife. A treaty was made, the controversy was submitted to the arbitration of the British Monarch; King Edward entrusted the case to jurists and geographers whose decision, dividing the disputed territory, was cheerfully accepted. In June 1903, Chile and Argentina, pleased with the outcome of this matter, made a general arbitration treaty, the first ever concluded among nations; a considerable disarmament followed releasing much money for needed internal improvements, and good feeling and confidence have replaced bitterness and jealousy.

In 1901 the women of Buenos Aires, on the initiative of SeÑora de Costa, President of the Christian Mothers’ Association of that city, acting upon the suggestion of Bishop Benavente, undertook to secure funds for a statue. A young Argentine sculptor, Mateo Alonso, created the design; the statue was cast from old Argentine cannon. In May 1903, the Chilian representatives came by sea to Buenos Aires for the ratification of the treaties, when the statue of Christ was inspected and SeÑora de Costa pleaded that it should be placed on the highest practicable point on the boundary of the two countries. In February, 1904, the final steps were taken. The statue was carried by rail to Mendoza, and on gun carriages up the mountain side, soldiers and sailors in dangerous spots taking the ropes from the mules. On the 13th of March, 1904, the dedication ceremonies took place in the presence of hundreds who from both sides had come up the night before and here encamped to witness this extraordinary spectacle. The Argentines stood on the soil of Chile, the Chilians on that of Argentina. The booming of guns, the sound of music re-echoed through the mountains. When all was ready, the monument unveiled, there was a moment of solemn silence, followed by the dedication of the statue to the whole world, as a lesson of peace and good will.

The monument consists of an octagonal granite column 22 feet high upon which is a hemisphere of granite with a partial sketch of the world’s outlines. On this stands the bronze Christ 26 feet high, the cross extending five feet above. Two bronze tablets on the granite base, the gift of the Workingmen’s and Workingwomen’s Unions of Buenos Aires, bear inscriptions in Spanish, on one side statistics and dates, on the other—

“Sooner shall these mountains crumble into dust than Argentines and Chilians break the peace to which they have pledged themselves at the feet of Christ the Redeemer.”

Until the opening of the railroad in May 1910, this great statue was annually passed by thousands who paused here for a moment in the midst of their dizzy ride to rest and to gaze upon the scene. Now it stands ever lonely between heaven and earth, the silence no more broken by the raucous shouts of swearing coachmen and muleteers, or by the crude jests of a boisterous throng; to the few who now venture along that solitary way, a solemn spectacle.

On this journey over the cumbre one is likely to descry specimens of the great condor, oftener to be seen in Chile than in the countries nearer the equator. In the many days I have spent above 15,000 feet in Peru and Bolivia, not one appeared within the range of my vision. In the mountainous regions of Chile, the birds are so numerous as to be a pest, attacking pigs, sheep, children, and rarely a grown man; hence a reward for condors dead or alive has been offered by the Government. From the top of the pass down to Las Cuevas near the tunnel entrance it was said to be a swift slide at breakneck speed. The thankfulness with which the tourist descended from the coach to enter the prosaic train may well be imagined. The sturdy pedestrian was the one who in safety and tranquillity might truly enjoy the magnificent visions, while others in terror had fleeting glimpses of the splendid panorama. One should not, however, even with a good revolver, in these days venture alone upon the traverse, unless thoroughly seasoned to greater heights; for though the brigands who once haunted this region have probably departed to more frequented scenes, the danger of an attack of mountain sickness or of a sudden storm, especially towards the beginning of winter, should deter most persons from the excursion except with suitable companions and equipment. It should be noted that high winds frequently prevail in these lofty regions after nine or ten in the morning, strong enough at times to hurl horse and rider from the track to the depths below; this fact accounts for the unearthly hour at which the start was formerly made for the ride over the cumbre. Stone huts called casachas, anciently built as refuges from storm, are scattered along the road, though now apt to be snow-filled and useless.

Below Puenta del Inca, the region seems like the interior of an extinct volcano, with variously tinted volcanic rocks. Dotting the slope of a jagged mountain, some odd small black pinnacles, called penitentes, are supposed to resemble toiling pilgrims, and the perpendicular cliffs above suggest a cathedral. On other slopes are nieves penitentes, ice pinnacles, curiously formed by the action of sun and wind, these the original penitentes, as the pilgrims were garbed in white.

Beyond Punta de las Vacas is a point on the left where the rock strata are of tints especially magnificent. At the station Uspallata, the narrow gorge opens into a little plain at right angles, where river and railroad both turn south. The name Uspallata is applied to the whole pass: its passage by a division of San Martin’s army with cannon was a remarkable military exploit: the general himself with the larger force crossed to the north of Aconcagua a slightly lower but colder pass called Los Patos.

Cacheuta. Near this station, 40 kilometers from Mendoza, are more hot baths, on the left of the railroad descending, but on the right bank of the river. Here is a surface of about 3000 square meters where by digging to a depth of 2 or 3 feet hot water will gush forth, the temperature varying according to the location, the hottest water near the river, 112°, the lowest, 79°. The waters are valuable to sufferers from rheumatism, articular, muscular, and visceral; less so for neuralgic pains, which may return. Women are benefited in their special ails. The waters strongly stimulate the nervous system, the power of nutrition, and the whole organic system including the heart action and circulation, and are therefore forbidden to persons suffering from diseases of the heart and circulation, some of whom pay for their rashness with their lives. The bath establishment, affording fair accommodations, a dining-room seating 250, and a billiard room, receives about 20,000 guests a year. Summer visitors are the most numerous. The baths include a swimming pool, and smaller tanks with water hot or cold, and a grotto for Russian baths. The price for two meals daily and bath is six pesos, or second class 4.50. The two meals are almuerzo and dinner, morning coffee being extra, a curious custom first observed in Chile but obtaining largely in Argentina. The Indian name, Cacheuta, is derived from the fact that here an Indian chief bearing, with attendants, two skins full of gold was met by Spaniards as he was going to ransom the Inca. The Indians succeeded in deceiving the Spaniards and concealing the gold. The secret was well kept until a poor Indian, befriended by a missionary, revealed the hiding place; but there was a mistake somewhere as all search was vain.

At length the mountains are left behind, probably after dusk has fallen, so that the arrival at Mendoza is in the early evening. The tourist who is making a hasty trip will hurry across the station to the probably waiting train, by which he will arrive in Buenos Aires the following evening. The more leisurely, and the tired traveler will take a carriage to the Grand Hotel where an excellent dinner will be enjoyed and comfortable night quarters may be obtained. In looking about the town and visiting one of the great bodegas, a day or two will be agreeably spent.

Mendoza Hotels, the Grand, the Club, the Francia and others. At the Grand, on Plaza San Martin, the table was unexpectedly good; the dinner, served on the broad veranda, from seven to nine on a balmy summer evening, was a genuine pleasure.

Mendoza, with 45,000 inhabitants, the largest city in West Argentina, has a remarkable record. Strange, indeed, that this town at the base of the loftiest of the Andes, by these separated from one ocean, and by 650 miles of pampa from the other, was founded nearly fifty years before the first settlement in the United States and twenty years before the city of Buenos Aires came permanently into being. If we knew or reflected more on the bold deeds of other days in other countries, we might, perchance, have more respect for others and less assurance of our own great superiority. May 2, 1561 (some say March 2, 1560), a city was founded by Pedro del Castillo in a fruitful spot watered by the Mendoza River. At an altitude of 2500 feet, in the longitude of Portland, Maine, and a latitude corresponding to that of Charleston, it is an agreeable place, with plazas, wide, pleasant streets, and attractive buildings; but all seems new. Two cities there are, the living and the dead; not as in Cuzco, the one of an earlier race, built over and around by invaders, but an old city of the sixteenth century, a new one of the nineteenth. Unless aware of this fact, the old will be ignored, the visitor passing on, unaware of its existence. Some, indeed, may prefer so to do, but others will desire to have a glimpse of the ruins: for the city of 1561, 300 years later, was utterly destroyed by a tremendous earthquake. The catastrophe was of a singular character. At 8.30 p.m., March 20, 1861, a subterranean groan was heard. On the instant, before there was time to flee, the house walls crumbling fell, the roofs in the middle, so that the people, generally in their houses, perished to the number of 10,000-15,000. Some, who were promenading in the streets or plaza, were killed or thrown to the ground; but many of these who were saved engaged in the work of rescue: too few, however, to do effective labor, so that a large number who had not been killed outright, confined among the ruins, perished from asphyxiation and starvation. From lamps and fires in the dwellings and the breaking of gas pipes, a conflagration followed, rendering the night more horrible. Some districts next day were flooded from the obstruction of the canals; the odor of dead bodies became insupportable, as the survivors were too few to remove them. The shocks had continued until nothing was left standing; there were 19 within the next 24 hours, 17 of which were violent; 14 more the next day; gradually they diminished, coming to an end in May. It is extraordinary that the strength of this violent convulsion was confined to a district 60 miles long and 6 wide, extending southeast from the Uspallata Valley. A slight jar was felt at Buenos Aires, but in Chile across the Andes no tremor at all. Assistance, though promptly sent, was long delayed in arrival, as at that time practically no railroads existed in Argentina. Succor first came from the neighboring towns of San Juan and San Luis, then from Chile, all of Argentina, Paraguay, Uruguay, Peru, and Europe; by which the survivors were enabled to rehabilitate themselves.

There was the usual talk of changing the location of the city to a site not far away near granite hills, indicating a more solid substratum; but the people as elsewhere refused to move, rebuilding close by in the lighter Chilian fashion, with a larger use of wood, and employing much material taken from the ruins. Thus these have to some extent disappeared, but it is worth while to have the coachman drive you over, if you care to see the destruction wrought.

The new city of Mendoza has recently experienced a rapid growth and great prosperity. Of the seven plazas, most important are the San Martin on which is the Grand and another hotel, also the handsome building of the Bank of the Province; and the Plaza Independencia, larger and finer, around which are already erected or about to be built, a new Government Palace, a Legislative Building, and a Hall of Justice. Other objects of more or less interest according to one’s taste, are churches, convents, libraries, a national college, a kindergarten of the very latest model, a normal and an agricultural school, factories of various industries, several Clubs of foreigners here resident, hospitals, orphan asylums, and a fine penitentiary. There are many broad streets, the chief avenue for shopping and promenade, the San Martin, being 100 feet wide with four rows of fine poplars. The streets, clean and well paved, are lined with a profusion of trees, more than 10,000; so many as to render the atmosphere at times (it is said) stifling and unhealthy. The houses are mainly of one story and none are above two, out of consideration for the earthquakes.

A comical and original method of street watering may here be observed. Considerable streams run along the sides of the main avenue, if not elsewhere, and boys with buckets on the end of long poles dip these into the water and throw it upon the driveway, a primitive but effective method.

On the west of the city an immense park is being developed into a charming resort at the edge of the Andean foothills. The handsome bronze gates at the entrance, costing $25,000, were imported from England. Within are splendid driveways lighted by electricity; beautiful flower beds; thousands of trees and shrubs; an interesting zoÖlogical garden; a pretty botanical garden; and a charming lake nearly a mile long and 330 feet wide, arranged with boating facilities, beautified by islands, and furnished with a splendid grand stand on a sloping shore with seating accommodations for 3000 people. Not far away is a rond point, with a kiosk as a band stand. Already a delightful resort which no one should fail to visit, it promises to be a truly magnificent pleasure ground. If there is one to compare with it in the United States in a city of twice the size, it has not come to my attention.

To many the greatest interest of Mendoza will be in the neighboring vineyards and bodegas. Many fortunes, large and small, have been made in viticulture in Argentina, and this region east of the Andean foothills is wonderfully well calculated for its development. Investments in this business return as high as 25 to 30 per cent profits. One hectare (2½ acres) of land will bear 300 to 400 cwt. of grapes, which sell at 3 or 4 pesos a cwt., an Argentine peso being 44 cents. An economical Italian family can live on the returns from a single hectare. Among the various industries of the province wine production is the most important, increasing between 1895 and 1908 from the value of 9 to 44 million pesos. The largest of the bodegas or wineries is that of Domingo Tomba, whose wines have received at European Expositions many gold and silver medals. This great establishment at Godoy Cruz, a pretty town half an hour by rail from Mendoza or a pleasant drive, may be visited in a half day. Interesting at any time it is especially so during the grape season which lasts from February to May, the fruit coming in first from the north and along down to the southern limit of production. SeÑor Tomba owns several large vineyards, 3000 acres, and purchases the entire product of others. The bodega, established by his brother Antonio (now deceased) in 1886, then producing 1000 hectolitres, increased to a production of 254,000 in 1909. All essentials of a first-class establishment are here found. The employees, like the proprietor, are mainly of Italian birth. It is an immense property with many buildings of various kinds. Rows of enormous casks for fermentation and deposit contain 220 hectolitres each, others are smaller, also there are great tanks of brick. The large two-wheeled carts for transportation are drawn by four horses, one ahead and three abreast, the driver riding one of the three. A large patio contains a pretty garden and a monument to the founder of the House. The buildings are as neat as possible and of fine workmanship. The wine is excellent, of good body, but not designed for export, not improving with age. For ordinary table use there is none better, and the demand for it in Argentina, in spite of continually enlarged production, is always greater than the supply.

Mendoza is a popular winter resort for many Argentinians on account of its picturesque surroundings and generally cloudless sky, with a superb view of snowclad heights; but most Americans would consider a frequent temperature in the forties a trifle chill without a fire, and would hie away to warmer climes.

The extensive system of irrigation carried on in the Province renders it highly productive of alfalfa, wheat, and corn, as well as grapes; also of vegetables rivaling the California giants, onions as large as plates, colossal carrots and radishes, at some seasons, mushrooms, marvellous in size and flavor, all these largely transported to Buenos Aires. As an attractive center of immigration this is the third province of the Republic.