There is some reason for believing that this ravine was regarded as a sacred place; a hypothesis which derives a certain degree of support from the seclusion and gloom of the spot, where the rays of the sun seldom reach, or reach but for a moment when the wind parts the verdure which shadows over it like a tent. On the right of Fig. 4 will be observed a flight of rude steps cut in the rock, indicated by the letter a. These lead to a shelf in the cliff, about three paces broad, at the back of which the rock again abruptly rises to the height of more than a hundred feet. Upon this shelf, and immediately above the figure which I have supposed to represent an ape, is what is called “el Baño,” the Bath. It is a rectangular excavation in the rock, nearly eight feet long, four broad, and eighteen inches deep, cut with great smoothness, the sides sloping regularly to the bottom. A groove about an inch and a half deep, leading to the edge of the cliff, is cut entirely around this basin, with the probable design of preventing the water from running into it. The name given to this excavation throws no light upon its true character, for it would be wholly inadequate for bathing purposes, even if there were a supply of water near, which there is not. There seems to be but one explanation of its origin, which has so much as the merit of plausibility, viz., that it was, in some way, connected with the superstitions of the aborigines, and devoted to sacred objects.

To the left, and a little above the figure which I have supposed to represent the sun, (c,) there is a pentagonal hole or shaft, penetrating horizontally into the rock. It is about sixteen or eighteen inches in diameter, and of an indefinite depth. I thrust a pole into it for upwards of twenty feet.feet. The sides are perfectly regular and smooth. Our guide pointed out to me one similar, some distance off, in another part of the ravine. It was, however, not more than five or six inches in diameter, and occurred so high up on the cliff that I could not ascertain its depth. The rock is basaltic or trachytic, and very hard. I am not aware that such openings are found in this kind of rock; but nevertheless suppose that those under notice are natural. Our guide insisted that they were artificial, and said the Indians have a tradition that they lead to subterranean chambers. I cannot describe them better than by saying that they appeared to be the matrices from which gigantic crystals had been withdrawn.

Besides the figures represented in the plates, there were many isolated ones, at various places on the rocks, among which those engraved above were several times repeated. Our guide also told us that there were other rocks, having figures both painted and sculptured upon them, at several points around the lake, but we could not ascertain the precise locality of any except those before us. Near a place called Santa Catrina, I was informed, there is a large rock covered with figures in red paint, like those at Nihapa, representing men and women dancing, and playing upon instruments of music. I had, however, no opportunity of ascertaining how far the account coincided with the facts, but have no doubt that it was somewhat exaggerated. The man at the Maquina also told me about what he called “stone vases,” which were to be found below the cliffs, at the edge of the lake, a league distant from where we now were. Upon questioning him as to their character, I ascertained that they were kettle-shaped excavations in rocks lying on the shore. He said they were now used to receive leather for tanning, and were probably originally devoted to a similar purpose.

It was late when we returned to Masaya, but as the moon was in its first quarter, I resolved to ride to Granada that evening. So we despatched a cup of chocolate (for which I paid the lady, with the distinguished connections, a dollar and a half) and mounted our horses just as the sun was sinking behind the volcano of Masaya. I hired a mozo in the plaza to ride ahead and put us in the right path,—a precaution, the necessity of which will appear when I say that foot and mule paths diverge in a thousand directions from every principal town, all so nearly alike that it is impossible for the stranger to tell one from another. We met hundreds of Indians, of both sexes, young and old, coming in from the fields, each bearing a small load of wood, corn, plantains, or other articles of consumption. They were all in excellent humor, and saluted us gayly. By-and-by the night fell, and except an occasional straggler, we had the path to ourselves. Now we wound along in deep dells and ravines, where it was so dark that we could not see each other, and anon emerged into the narrow open savannahs, of which I have elsewhere spoken, smiling under the soft light of the crescent moon. The paths were so numerous, that, after puzzling myself into a state of profoundest confusion, in attempting to keep the broadest and most frequented, I left the selection entirely to my horse. Where we should bring up was a matter of uncertainty; our only landmark was the volcano of Momobacho, and while that was kept to the right, I knew we could not be greatly out of our way. Our horses were fresh, the evening was cool, and forest and savannah, light and shade, seemed to float past us like the silent scenery of a dream. That ride was a poetical episode of existence, as perfect in its kind as the morning passage along the shores of Lake Managua, with which it contrasted so strongly. Here all was dim and calm and silent, deep shadows and mellow light; there the great sun ruled in his strength, the leaping waters, the music of wind and wave, the songs of birds, man and beast, all was life and action, and the human soul which swelled to the exuberant harmonies of the one, subsided to the holy cadences of the other. Happy is he who truly sympathizes with Nature, and whose heart beats responsively to her melodies. One hour of such communion with our great and genial Mother! How all the struggles of life, the petty aims and ambitions of men, dwindle before the comprehensive majesty of her teachings!

As we rode on, I tried in vain to recognize the features of the country, and the suspicion that we had missed our way passed into a certainty, when, emerging suddenly from a long reach of gloomy forest, we found ourselves upon the precipitous banks of the “Laguna de Salinas.” The declining moon shone slantingly upon that deep Avernian lake, with its cliffs casting the shadow of their frown over more than half its surface. I paused for a moment to look upon the gloomy picture, and then turned off into the circuitous camino real, which we had now reached, for Granada. A brisk ride of little more than half an hour brought us to the arsenal, which stands like a sentinel on the outmost limits of the city. It no longer bristled with armed men, as it had done when we passed it six months before; and the Jalteva which was then deserted and silent, was now all life and animation. Light shone out from the open doors, and the merry laughter of children mingled with the tinkling of guitars, and the not over melodious, nasal sentimentalities of lovesick swains. The entire city wore a very different aspect from that which it had borne at the time of our arrival. The gloom, not to say terror, which then oppressed all classes, had passed away; and as I rode through the streets and witnessed the apparent absence of want, of care for the present, or concern for the future, I could not resist the impression that probably no equal number of people in the world enjoyed more real happiness than these. With the mass of men, those whose higher powers of enjoyment have never been developed, and whose happiness depends chiefly upon the absence of physical wants, or upon the ease with which they may be gratified, the life of the people of Granada must come very near to their ideal of human existence. And he will be a bold speculator, who having seen man under the various aspects, political or otherwise, in which the world presents him, shall deny the truth of the popular idea; and a bold innovator who, in vain aspirations for what he conceives necessary for the popular welfare, shall disturb this illusion, if illusion it be, which the mass of mankind so fondly cherish.

I had engaged quarters in advance, and rode to them at once. A large sala was ready for our reception, and in less than ten minutes a cup of foaming chocolate was smoking upon the sideboard. Our first visitor was our old friend, Dr. S., who brought with him another American, a bluff sailor from Albany, who, by a singular series of vicissitudes, had found his way to Granada. He had shipped from New York for Rio, thence to Callao, where the crew was paid off, and the vessel sold. The world was all agog for California, and Jack, with his brother tars, also caught the fever. But how to get there was a question. Every vessel was overcrowded, and passages were at a rate far beyond the ability of any of them to pay. In this dilemma eight of their number clubbed together and purchased an open whale-boat, which they victualled and watered to the best of their ability, and, with a daring eminently American, started on a voyage of upwards of four thousand miles. They put in once or twice to procure supplies, and had accomplished one-half of the distance, when they were overtaken by a storm, dismasted, and capsized, and with the loss of two of their number, after drifting for four days, with neither food nor drink, at the mercy of the winds and currents, were finally driven upon an unknown coast. Here a few wild fruits, some birds, and shell-fish, supplied the immediate wants of nature. Repairing their disabled boat, so far as they were able, without clothing, arms, or utensils of any sort, they coasted painfully along the shore for two days. On the third day they found a few Indians diving for pearls, who, alarmed at their appearance, fled into the forest. One was overtaken, and through the medium of some Spanish, little understood upon one side and still less upon the other, they ascertained that they were in the Bay of Culebra, in the department of Guanacaste, the southern district of Nicaragua. The region along the coast was uninhabited, but after much difficulty they succeeded in reaching the little village of Santa Cruz, in the interior. Here a division of property, consisting of two old silver watches, and twelve dollars in cash, took place, and the party separated, each with four dollars wherewith to clothe himself, and commence the world again. Jack, who was something of a carpenter, tried to mend his fortunes by mending the houses of the people, but soon found that houses good or bad were of little consequence, and so hired himself to a vaquero who was about starting with a drove of mules for the city of Nicaragua. The fare was bad, and the labor incredible, and after three weeks of suffering in the hot sun by day, and in pestilent damps at night, his feet lacerated by sharp stones, his body torn by thorns and inflamed from the bites of insects, with a raging fever which made him delirious for hours together, and caused his hair to drop in handfuls from his head,—in this plight, poor Jack reached Nicaragua. And here, to crown his miseries, his rascally employer not only refused to pay him, but, while he was lying delirious in an outhouse, robbed him of his little store of money. When the fit had passed, he staggered out into the streets and towards the fields, muttering incoherently. The children were frightened by his haggard looks and bloodshot eyes, and fled as he reeled along. Fortunately, he was seen by one of the citizens, who not only brought him to his own house, but sent at once for Dr. S., then accidentally in the city, who attended the poor fellow with characteristic humanity and unwearied assiduity, day and night, until he had recovered, and then took him to his own house in Granada. He was still weak, but fast regaining his strength, and I listened to his story, told with the bluff heartiness of the sailor, with an interest which the art of the novelist could not heighten. I had the satisfaction, a couple of months later, of securing his passage on board a French vessel bound to that land of promise to which he still looked forward with unwavering hope; and since my return to the United States, I have received a letter from him, modestly announcing that he has amassed six thousand dollars,—the sum which “he was bound to win or die,” and as one-third owner and mate of a little brig, was on the eve of starting for the Sandwich Islands on a trading venture!

Such, in this new land, is the course of Fortune. Jack, my good friend, may God speed thee, and may thy success be commensurate with thy honest deservings! I need not wish thee more than that!