Mr. Wallenstein, German; and the fourth was a countryman, Mr. Lawrence, from Middletown, Connecticut. All lived with Mr. Steipel; and I had immediately a general invitation to make his house my home.
In the afternoon I dined with the foreign residents at the house of Mr. Steipel. This gentleman is an instance of the vicissitudes of fortune. He is a native of Hanover. At fifteen he left college and entered the Prussian army; fought at Dresden and Leipsic; and at the battle of Waterloo received a ball in his brain, from which unfortunately, only within the month preceding, he lost the use of one eye. Disabled for three years by his wound, on his recovery, with three companions, he sailed for South America, and entered the Peruvian army, married a Hija del Sol, Daughter of the Sun, turned merchant, and came to San José, where he was then living in a style of European hospitality. I shall lose all reputation as a sentimental traveller, but I cannot help mentioning honourably every man who gave me a good dinner; and with this determination I shall offend the reader but once more.
Early the next morning, accompanied by my countryman Mr. Lawrence, and mounted on a noble mule lent me by Mr. Steipel, I set off for Cartago. We left the city by a long, well-paved street, and a little beyond the suburbs passed a neat coffee-plantation, which reminded me of a Continental villa. It was the property of a Frenchman, who died just as he completed it; but his widow had provided another master for his house and father for his children. On both sides were mountains, and in front was the great Volcano of Cartago. The fields were cultivated with corn, plantains, and potatoes. The latter, though indigenous, and now scattered all over Europe, is no longer the food of the natives, and but rarely found in Spanish America. The Cartago potatoes are of good flavour, but not larger than a walnut, doubtless from the want of care in cultivating them.
Entries have been found in the records of Cartago dated in 1598, which show it to be the oldest city in Central America. Coming from San José, its appearance was that of an ancient city. The churches were large and imposing; the houses had yard-walls as high as themselves; and its quiet was extraordinary. We rode up a very long street without seeing a single person, and the cross-streets, extending to a great distance both ways, were desolate. A single horseman crossing at some distance was an object to fix our attention.
The day before we had met at San José Dr. Bridley, the only foreign resident in Cartago, who had promised to procure a guide, and make arrangements for ascending the Volcano of Cartago; and we found
