There are some very curious and ancient remains of magnificent edifices in the department of Chuquisaca which excite admiration, but to whom they originally belonged still remains a mystery.
Looking far south we see on our map the department of Tarija, with a population of 53,666 Creoles, and 9,108 friendly Indians; but the eastern portion of this department is inhabited by tribes of very savage Indians, of whom there is little known. They roam among the forests and grassy plains, or among those great mountains which separate Bolivia from the Argentines.
The town of Tarija, capital of the department, contains a population of 5,129, and is situated on one of the tributaries of the river Bermejo, which flows through the Argentine confederation into the Paraguay. My impressions, from information, are that the Bermejo is a deeper and a slower-motioned stream than the Pilcomayo, and that small sail-vessels may reach the town of Oran, a short distance south of the southern boundary of Bolivia. We are not, however, as certain of this as we are that the Pilcomayo has been reported not navigable in Bolivia. There is a wide field for exploration on La Plata. Grape-vines produce luxuriously in Tarija, and there the Paraguay tea—"yerba del Paraguay," is found. Cochabamba, Chuquisaca, and Tarija, are the corn-growing departments of this country; Potosi and La Paz are the potato districts.
The distribution of vegetable life, as presented to us in their elevated regions, places the potato the highest; the other plants run down in order—quinua, barley, wheat, coffee, and sugar-cane. Therefore the inhabitants on this side of the mountains have a self-sustaining supply without looking to other countries for sugar, wine, flower, potatoes, or tea; and the varieties of animal life offer them mutton and wool from the highlands, with beef and tallow candles from the steppe, on which exists the most dense population.
Our mules rested, and our breakfast over, we mount and slowly struggle upwards again; the bright sun shines clear upon the city below, while we have a cloudy day. It is interesting to see from under this cloudy curtain the beautiful natural-colored scene on this stage of wonderful creation. The panorama brilliantly lighted by the sun, which sparkles on the waters of the river as they dash along among the deep green foliage. The lakes are like mirrors, only rippled by the green breast of the wild duck. A long train of mules winds along the road from the Pacific; we just hear the great bell of the cathedral toll, when the clouds unroll and fall, shutting out light and view, as a mountain eagle shrieks. The scene soon changes as we climb higher up among the bare-headed rocky peaks; on our left is one gray with the snows of perpetual winter; on the right a great avalanche of earth has fallen from the crown of a mountain into the ravine, as though blown off by the prevailing winds from the opposite side. The jackasses we meet are loaded with fire-wood and charcoal, from an extensive growth on the eastern face. The Indians wear long hair on the back of the head, and never cultivate a growth on their faces.