Guatemala, and bid good-bye to Honduras, in
which state we shall not travel.

We should have found it a land of valley
and mountain (for "Honduras" is by
interpretation "valleys") rugged and barren. It
has gold and silver mines, but hath also
revolutions, and the mines are almost abandoned.
It has, as everybody knows, mahogany, bought
by the Belize merchants of the Honduras
government, at the rate of about ten dollars
per tree. It exports hides and a little
sarsaparilla. Then we leave Honduras, and float
swiftly on through Guatemala till we reach
its capital; that is called Guatemala too, and
once was regarded as the capital of all Central
America.

Guatemala, the town, at a distance looks
extremely handsome. It has many churches,
many gardens interspersed among the houses.
The streets, on entering, we find to be all
straight, and the houses all one story high.
Well, there's an earthquake now, at any rate!
We have been very fortunate in getting all
the way from Isabel without one. The
sensation is like that which we have on
shipboard when the vessel lurches. There are
two or three rolls, and the sudden settling is
the worst part of the shock. We see that a
good many people have jumped out of their
houses. It is on account of the frequent
earthquakes that they are built only one story
high. Earthquakes are disagreeable; folks do
not become used to them, but, on the contrary,
are said with each experience to acquire some
increase of dread. This very town is a place
begotten of an earthquake. It was founded
no longer ago than the year 1773, when the
old capital—Old Guatemala—suffered from a
disastrous earthquake that eventually tired
its patience. Before that, in 1717, the volcano
of fire—for the old capital stood between two
volcanoes, and one was of fire, the other of
water—the volcano of fire had been extremely
active, and its eruption had been accompanied
with a dose of earthquake and devastation,
which was continued for four months. Before
that, in 1686, a tenth part of the population
had been swept off by an epidemic. Before
that, in 1651, there was an extraordinary
earthquake, and the wild beasts came to town
to be protected. Before that, in 1601, there
was a pestilence. Before that, in 1585-6,
there was for months incessant fire from the
volcano, and earthquakes; in December, 1586,
numbers of the people were buried under
ruins, the ridges of mountains were torn off,
and there were great chasms in the ground.
Before that, in 1581, the volcano threw up
such a load of ashes, that lights were required
in the houses at mid-day. Before that, in
1575-6-7, there were ruinous earthquakes.
Before that, in 1558, there was an epidemic.
Before that, in 1542, the capital was founded,
because another capital before that had been
swept into ruins by the descent of a huge
torrent, bearing with it rocks and trees, down
the sides of the volcano of water.

The new Guatemala is built like all towns
of what has been Spanish America, in square
blocks, so that all the streets are straight and
cross each other at right angles. The houses
are, as we saw, one story high; but spacious,
with large doors and windows, and iron
balconies. There is a public market square, with
a fountain in the middle, and on one side the
Cathedral, a fine structure, with the
archbishop's palace and a school; opposite that
the government house and some law courts;
on a third side, guard-house and barracks;
and on the fourth, a corridor, occupied by the
chief shops of the city, which are all "general
stores." The water of the fountain comes
from a distance of twelve miles, by an
aqueduct, which supplies all Guatemala, and
yields a surplus which plays about the town
in fifty public fountains. These supply water
freely to the poor, and many of them are
covered with stone buildings and partitioned
off into stone troughs, for washing clothes.
Hear this—O, London!—of the land of
frijoles!

The chief amusement in Guatemala consists
in letting off fireworks in the streets, every
Saint's day. This is a Saint's day, and the
fireworks come after the earthquake. We
will look to a hotel for shelter. Alas, there
is no hotel, no inn. Possibly we may get a
lodging. A lodging in Central America
means a room. A room—four walls, and
nothing else. We'll borrow a bed, to see
what that is like. It is an ox-hide, full of
fleas. Not that fleas matter in the ox-hide,
for the floor, of baked clay, broken, is full
of fleas in every crevice. Phantoms though
we are, we will not sleep in Guatemala.
Guatemala is the best town in Central
America; and the Mica Mountain is not the
worst road.

We float off to the deserted capital. Not
quite deserted; many clung to it when the
new town was built, for it is situated in a
fertile district; the new town is not. It has
a desolate appearance, its fine old cathedral
cracked from top to bottom—ruined houses
with huts planted in the corners of them.
We will go on a few miles, to the city of
Amatitlan. Old Guatemala and Amatitlan
are the centres of the cochineal plantations.
Each house in Amatitlan has its cactus
ground, as, in English villages, each cottage
has its cabbage garden. In Central America
you have the cactus at home, in all its glory.
On unfrequented mountains there, we wander
among cactus blossoms. Five varieties of
cactus are employed to feed the cochineal
insect. The valley of Amatitlan is covered
with cochineal estates. In this valley is a
lake whereinto two streams flow, and out of
which there flows a river. On the lake floats
pumice-stone, springs of boiling-water bubble
round it. Steam pours out of crevices, here
and there, in the adjacent mountains. The
whole ground is volcanic. In some parts of
the valley well-diggers almost burn their