. The Andes and the Amazon :|bor across the continent of South America. n, plows, and powder have all been introduced sincethe times of the Incas. Their forefathers cut through six-ty miles of granite to get a little water; tliey rob the an-cient graves for water-pitchers rather than make themthemselves. Who would recognize in this degraded peo-ple the blood and brains that once raised the stupendousfortress of Sacsahuaman—the Ehrenbreitstein of Peru ?* The pure Quichua always wears a silent, sad, serious ex-pression.! Every thing about him wears a melancholycast—physiognomy, dress, landscape.
. The Andes and the Amazon :|bor across the continent of South America. n, plows, and powder have all been introduced sincethe times of the Incas. Their forefathers cut through six-ty miles of granite to get a little water; tliey rob the an-cient graves for water-pitchers rather than make themthemselves. Who would recognize in this degraded peo-ple the blood and brains that once raised the stupendousfortress of Sacsahuaman—the Ehrenbreitstein of Peru ?* The pure Quichua always wears a silent, sad, serious ex-pression.! Every thing about him wears a melancholycast—physiognomy, dress, landscape. He is reserved, la- * But who would recognize in the fellahs of modern Egypt the descendantsof that people who have transmitted to our days many of the leading elementsof our civilization, and have left the pyramids as the imperishable witnessesof their power ? Or in the barbarous and crafty Moors of Morocco the off-spring of the brilliant Arabs who introduced chivalry into Europe?—More-lets Central America. t For physiognomy, see p. 111. QuicHTJA Indians. 457. Eemaiuiiig End \\ ills of the Temple t the Miu, Cu7Co conic, stubborn, timid, harmless, and trustworthy, yet in-tensely suspicions. He appears to be without curiosityor ambition; but I am inclined to think his stolid indif-ference is not real. I never saw a fat or jolly Indian onthe Andes. Some writers speak of their pathetic songs;but though I have mingled freely with them from Quitoto Bolivia, I have never heard one sing. Crushed by 458 The Andes and the Amazons. their oppressors, they tread with downcast looks tlie mount-ains that once resounded with the proud steps of their un-conquered ancestors. As well might the Hebrews sing inBabylon. Yet here is a song (if a note of despair can becalled a song) heard by a .traveler from the lips of ayoung Indian mother in the wild recesses of the Andes: My mother begat me, amid rain and mist,To weep like tiie rain and be drifted like the clouds. You are born in the cradle
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