requisite for its cultivation; and I have myself seen a little spot, in the vicinity of Guădălăjāră, which presents a similar phenomenon.[1] In addition to these local peculiarities, which occur without there being any sensible difference in point of elevation to occasion them, every little break or descent in the surface of the Table-land, leads as naturally to an increase of heat, as the ascent from the coast does to a diminution of it. The transition is sometimes extremely sudden, for a deep ravine, or Căñādă, is sufficient to occasion it. Thus, in the Căñādă of Qŭarētărŏ, and in the famous Barranca of Rēglă, at Real del Monte, both of which are situated in the centre of the Table-land, and nearly upon the same level as the Capital, a few hundred yards change the face of nature entirely. The luxuriancy of Tropical vegetation replaces the stunted growth peculiar to the central plateau; the birds assume a more variegated plumage; the inhabitants a more relaxed and indolent expression; and the whole scene the characteristics of another world.
The same effects are produced wherever the same causes occur; and as, on a mountain chain, the inequalities of the surface are naturally very great, it is hardly possible to proceed to any distance, either to the East, or to the West of the Capital, without experiencing these transitions, which sometimes are met with repeatedly in the course of a single day. The natives, without inquiring into their origin, express the fact, by designating these hot, low ravines, as Tierra caliente; a term which always signifies a portion of the country, in which (from whatever causes) there is a sufficiency of heat to produce the fruits, and with the fruits, the diseases of the Tropics. Tierra fria (the cold country) is applied to the mountainous districts which rise above the level of the Capital, up to the limits of eternal snow; while Tierra templada (the temperate region) embraces, in its most
- ↑ The village of Zăpōtlănējŏ; for an account of which, vide Personal Narrative, Book VI.
