and palaces of Eastern monarchs, and the houses of the rich, in far-off centuries; and the beautiful fan, shown you in the picture on this page, was copied from one made more than two thousand years ago, in Etruria, a country of ancient Italy.

The peacock appears very early in history as a domestic fowl, since the Hebrews had it long before the days of Solomon. From Asia it went westward into Europe, as soon as civilization began to penetrate what then were savage wilds. In those old days of Rome, which the poets call its golder. age, when the luxurious life of that splendid city was at its height, no great feast was without its peacocks, cooked as the most ostentatious dish. The body of the bird was roasted, and when placed upon the table was wrapped in a lifelike way in its own skin, with the tail-feathers spread. Could anything be more ornamental to a dinner-table? The custom of having peacocks served at banquets continued into the Middle Ages, but it is rarely that one is cooked nowadays, for most persons consider the flesh dry and tasteless.

The peacock seems filled with an intense admiration of his own beauty. He poses in a stately attitude, or struts about, inviting your attention to his magnificence; then he slowly bends his proud head from one side to the other and rattles the quills of his tail, as he marches off with the parade of a drum-major, and turns to let the sunshine glint upon his plumes in some new way. "As vain as a peacock" is a well-founded proverb, no doubt; but, perhaps, in justice to the beautiful bird, it would be wise to remember a short sermon on this text from your good friend, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, who said to you, in March, 1874:

"I gave a peacock a good talking to, the other day, for being so vain. But he made me understand that vanity was his principal merit. 'For,' said he, 'how in the world should we peacocks look, if we did n't strut? What kind of an air would our tail feathers have, if we did n't spread them?' I gave in. A meek peacock would be an absurdity. Vanity evidently was meant specially for peacocks."

CHAPTER VII.

"Rocks and lonely flower-leas, Playgrounds of the mountain breeze."

THE Republic of Guatemala is as far south as Egypt, but its mountains are so high that the weather is by no means very hot, and when we approached the heights of the Sierra Gorda we had to unstrap our blankets to keep our poor monkeys warm. The upper sierra was so lonely that we became a little uneasy about our road, but the confidence of our guide re-assured us.

"There is no doubt about the right direction," said he ; 66 we have to keep straight south, and if we get up to the ridge before sundown, you will see the Valley of Antigua."

"I don't think we shall reach a house before night," said Menito; "this looks like He stopped and clutched my arm. "Look up there," he whispered; "there's somebody ahead of us—-something moving in the cliffs over yonder."

The moving something looked like a big red bag with two little feet,-a traveling bundle of red shawls, as it seemed when we came a little nearer.

"Oh, I know," laughed Daddy Simon, "that's the old sergeant's daughter, with her pack of dry-goods; I have met her twice before."

"What sergeant?" I asked.

"He used to belong to the mounted police," said the guide, "and he's living somewhere in this sierra now. His wife makes woolen shawls and things, and they peddle them all over the country. Yes, that's the same girl," he whispered, when we overtook the red bundle.

The bundle turned, and under a heap of woolen shawls, caps, and mittens, we saw the owner of the little feet, a black-eyed infant with a sharp nose and a big walking-stick—a mere baby, of eight or nine years, I should say, certainly not more than ten, but quite self-possessed.

"Fine evening," she observed, after answering our greeting. "Traveling?"

“Yes, we are going to Antigua," I replied; "do you know which is the shortest road?"

"I'll show you by and by, when we get up to the ridge," said she; "you are all right thus far. Strangers, I suppose?"

"Not if I know it," said the little milliner; "they would find out that my father owns a musket. My name is Miss Cortina, you know."

"But what about ghosts?" said Menito; "they don't care for muskets. Suppose you should meet the Wild Spaniard, or the Three Howling Monks?"

"Howling Monks? They had better leave me alone," said Miss Cortina, with a glance at her walking-stick. "I'd give them something to howl about."

The sun went down before we reached the summit rocks, and it was almost dark when we halted, in a grove of larch-trees on the southern slope.

"I must leave you now," said Miss Cortina, when we had pitched our tent. "That black smoke-cloud over yonder is the Volcano of Mesaya, so you see that you are going in the right direction. I'll show you the trail to-morrow morning."

She shouldered her bundle and took camp under the branches of a fallen tree, some fifty yards from our bivouac.

"No wonder she is n't afraid of ghosts," laughed Tommy; "would n't she make a good witch herself? She uses that bundle of hers for a bed, it scems, but I wonder if she has anything to eat?"

"Here, Menito," said I, "take her these cakes and figs, and ask her if she needs anything else." Menito started for the tree, but soon came back laughing.

"She would n't let me come near her wigwam at all," said he; "she tells me that she can't receive any callers after eight o'clock!"

About midnight, we were awakened by a strange light that penetrated our tent and threw a reddish glare on the opposite trees.

66

That can't be the moon," said Tommy; "may be the woods are afire-wait, I'm going to see what it is. Oh, come out here, all of you," he cried," the whole sky is ablaze!"

central sierra, and illuminated the wild mountains near and far. Every now and then a fiery mass shot up into the clouds and fell back in a shower of burning flakes.

"That's the Volcano of Mesaya," said Daddy Simon. "May the saints help all the poor people in that sierra!"

He and Menito looked on in silence, but Tommy had never seen a volcanic eruption before, and was almost beside himself with excitement.

"Come this way!" he cried. "Step on this ledge, uncle, you can see it more plainly. Why, talk about battles and fire-works! All the gunpowder in the world could not make a flame of that

At sunrise the smoke of the volcano stood like a black cloud-pillar in the southern sky, and when we continued on our road, we noticed a strange dust in the air, a haze of fine ashes, that had drifted over with the night-wind. The lowlands at our feet, however, were sunlit for hundreds of miles, and through a gap in the south-western coast-range we could see the glittering waters of the Pacific Ocean. The southern slope of our sierra was very steep, till we reached a sort of terrace formed by the upper valley of the Rio Claro. Here our little guide stopped, and pointed to a stone house that stood like a watch-tower at the brink of the river-valley. "That's where my folks live," said she.

"You

the border, in the State of Nicaragua."

"Look over

"Yes, it 's I," said she. "What's up?" "Can't you see it?" said Tommy. yonder."

"That? Then I had better go to bed again," said the little lady. "Well, well; I thought there was something the matter. Never mind that old volcano; you can see that any day in the year."

We were not quite sure about that. The night was a little chilly, but we stood and looked till the wonder was veiled by the rising morning mist.

ness.

Miss Cortina cocked her sharp little nose.

"You had better mind your own business, then," said she. "I shall find a hundred customers before you sell one of your old monkeys."

"That 's right, sissy," laughed Tom. "But we do not sell our monkeys; do you know anybody hereabouts who does? We want to buy all the pets we can get-kittens, cats, and catamounts."

"You do?" said she; "why did n't you say so before? How would a couple of young bears suit you? My father could find you a pair of nice ones."

"What will he take?" asked Menito. "That's no business of mine," said the little shrew. "You just follow this road; if my father is home, he will overtake you before you cross that river. The bears are somewhere in the sierra."

A mile farther down we came to a bridge, where we had to wait half an hour, till at last a man with a large musket came running down the river-road.

"Yes, that's the old sergeant," said Daddy Simon. "I know him by that big gun of his."

"Hallo! So my girl was right, after all," said the sergeant. "Her mother would n't believe that you wanted to buy those bears."

"Where are they?" I asked.

"Up in the sierra; if you are bound for Antigua, it's a little out of your direction," said he. "But you might as well go by way of San Miguel, and get the viatico."

"What 's that?"

"San Miguel is a convent," explained the sergeant. "And the viatico is the luncheon they give to all strangers."

"All right!" I laughed. "We must n't miss that for anything. Come on, then."

The sergeant was a fast walker, but we managed to keep up with him some eight miles, up and down hill through the mountains, till he brought us to the brink of a deep ravine, where our mule refused to advance another step.

"You had better leave her up here and let that boy take her along the hillside," said our new guide. "They can meet us at the mouth of the next creek."

When we had reached the bottom of the ravine the hunter stopped and pointed to a pile of bowlders on the opposite slope. "That's the bear's den," said he; "she has two cubs, nearly a month old, I should say; let 's fetch them right now."

he, when we reached the bowlders. He untied a little bundle, took out a sack and a pair of large buckskin gloves, and after looking carefully up and down the ravine, he crawled into a cleft in the bottom rocks of the pile.

"There's something wrong-may be the old

HIDE AND SEEK WITH THE OLD BEAR.

"Never mind the guns," said the sergeant; "I'll get the bears for you; they are only cubs, and the old one is n't at home."

"How do you know?"

"She's out marmot-hunting," said he; "there's a colony of marmottos" (a sort of prairie-dogs) "on the ridge of this sierra, and they never come out till the sun gets pretty high, a little after noon, generally. Now hold my musket a moment," said

"No, I think he knows what he 's about," said Daddy Simon; "he 's the best hunter in this sierra, and quite as sharp-nosed as his daughter. Yes, here he comes. Listen!"

A whimpering howl came from the depths of the cave, and, a moment after, the hunter crawled out and handed us a creature like a fat, black poodledog. "Here, take charge of this old howler," said