again at Cuajimalpa, took leave of the interesting itzcuintepotzotli, still hanging from its hook—and again ascended the eminence from which Mexico suddenly bursts upon the view, and after a short absence, with all the charm of novelty. Before we arrived at Tacubaya, we were met by a carriage containing Señor A and his lady, who insisted on our leaving the diligence; and carried us off to their own house, where we now are. On the second of January, we expect to take our final departure from the "great city of the lake."
28th December.—Another old year about to chime in! Another Christmas past away! But during these last few days, it has been all in vain to attempt finishing my letter, between making arrangements for our journey, receiving and returning visits, going to the opera, and seeing and revisiting, all that we had left unseen or wished to see again before leaving this. People seem determined that we shall regret them, and load us with kindness and attentions the more flattering, that now at least they are entirely personal, and cannot proceed from any interested motive. We have reason to think them both steady and sincere in their friendship. . . . .
General Moran has died, universally regretted. He has been embalmed according to the system of Ganal, and his funeral was performed with extraordinary magnificence, the troops out, the foreign ministers and the cabinet following on foot, the former in full uniform, and a great train of carriages reaching along the whole Calle San Francisco, from the
