The chief produce of Costa Rica is coffee. Those who love statistics may perhaps care to know that the average yearly export is something under a hundred thousand quintals; now a quintal weighs a hundred pounds, or rather, I believe, ninety-nine pounds exact.

CHAPTER XIX.

CENTRAL AMERICA. COSTA RICA-MOUNT IRAZU.

In the neighbourhood of San José there is a volcanic mountain, the name of which is Irazu. I was informed that it still smoked, though it had discontinued for the present the ejection of flames and lava. Indeed, the whole country is full of such mountains. There is one, the Monte Blanco, the summit of which has never yet been reached-so rumour says in Costa Rica-far distant, enveloped among other mountains, and to be reached only through dense aboriginal orests, which still emits, and is always emitting fire and burning floods of molten stones.

Different excursions have been made with the object of ascending the Monte Blanco, but hitherto in vain. Not long since it was attempted by a French baron, but he and his guide were for twenty days in the woods, and then returned, their provisions failing them.

"You should ascend the Monte Blanco," said Sir William Ouseley to me. "You are a man at large, with nothing to do. It is just the work for you." This was Sir William's satire on the lightness of my ordinary occupations. Light as they might be, however, I had neither time nor courage for an undertaking such as that; so I determined to satisfy myself with the Irazu.

It happened, rather unfortunately for me, that at the moment of my arrival at San José, a large party, consisting of Sir William's family and others, were in the very act of visiting the mountain. Those, therefore, who were anxious to see the sight, and willing to undergo the labour, thus had their opportunity; and it became impossible for me to make up a second party. One hope I had. The Secretary of Legation had not gone. Official occupation, joined to a dislike of mud and rough stones, had kept him at home. Perhaps I might prevail. The intensity of that work might give way before a week's unremitting labour, and that Sybarite propensity might be overcome.

But all my eloquence was of no avail. An absence of a day and a half only was required; and three were spent in proving that this could not be effected. The stones and mud too were becoming worse and worse, for the rainy season had commenced. In fact, the Secretary of Legation would not budge. "Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle," said the Secretary of Legation; whereupon he lighted another cigar, and took a turn in the grass hammock. Now in my mind it must be a very bad game indeed that is not worth the candle; and almost any game is better than no game at all.

I was thus in deep trouble, making up my mind to go alone, or rather alone with my guide;-for the due appreciation of which state of loneliness it must be borne in mind that, as I do not speak a word of Spanish, I should have no possible means of communication with the guide,-when a low and mild voice fell upon my ear, offering me its proprietor as my companion.

"I went up with Sir William last week," said the mild voice; and if you will permit me, I shall be happy

to go with you. I should like to see it twice; and I live at Cartago on the way.'

It was quite clear that the owner of the voice was sacrificing himself, and offering to repeat this troublesome journey merely out of good nature; but the service which he proposed to render me was too essential, and I could not afford to reject the offer. He lived in the country and spoke Spanish, and was, moreover, a mild, kind-hearted little gentleman, very suitable as a companion, and not given too pertinaciously to a will of his own. Now the Secretary of Legation would have driven me mad half a score of times during the journey. He would have deafened me with politics, and with such politics too! So that on the whole I knew myself to be well off with the mild voice.

"You must go through Cartago," said the mild voice, "and I live there. We will dine there at the inn tomorrow, and then do a portion of our work the same evening." It was so arranged. I was to be with him the next day at three, with a guide and two mules.

On the next morning it rained provokingly. I ought to have started at twelve; but at that time it was pouring, and neither the guide nor the mules showed themselves. "You will never get there," said the Secretary of Legation, looking up to the murky clouds with a gleam of delight. "The game is never worth such a candle as that." "I shall get there most assuredly," said I, rather sulkily, "let the candle cost what it may." But still the mules did not come.

Men have no idea of time in any country that is or has been connected with Spain. "Yes, señor; you said twelve, and it is now only two! Well, three. The day is long, señor; there is plenty of time. Vaminos? Since you are in such a hurry, shall we make a start of it?"

At half-past two o'clock so spoke-not my guide, for, as will be seen by-and-by, he never spoke at all—but my guide's owner, who came accompanying the mules. In huge hurry, with sundry mute exclamations, uttered by my countenance since my tongue was unintelligible, and with appeals to my watch which should have broken the man's heart as I thrust it into his face, I clomb into my saddle. And then a poor-looking, shoeless creature, with a small straw hat tied on to his head by a handkerchief, with difficulty poised himself on the other beast. "Vamos," I exclaimed, and trotted down the street; for I knew that in that direction lay the road to Cartago. "God be with you," said the Secretary of Legation. "The rainy season has set in permanently, I know; but perhaps you may have half an hour of sunshine now and again. I hope you will enjoy yourself."

It was not raining when I started, and in fact did not rain again the whole afternoon. I trotted valiantly down the street, knowing my way so far; but at the bottom of the town the roads divided, and I waited for my guide. "Go on first," said I, pointing along the road. But he did not understand me, and stood still. "Go on," said I, getting behind his mule as though to drive him. But he merely stared, and shuffled himself to the other side of the road. "Cartago," I shouted, meaning that he was to show me the way there. "Si, señor," he replied; and backed himself into the ditch out of my way. He was certainly the stupidest man I ever met in my life, and I believe the Secretary of Legation had selected him on purpose.

I was obliged to choose my own road out of two, and luckily chose the right one. Had I Had I gone wrong, I doubt whether the man would have had wit enough to put me right. I again trotted on; but in a quarter of an hour