reminded me of some of the drawings in Denham's African travels, where a little spot, with something like water and freshness, is represented in the midst of a scene of desolation.
The country between Būrrăs and Guănăjūātŏ is uninteresting, and of the town itself nothing is seen until you reach the Gate of Mărfil, where you enter the suburb of that name. The houses follow for nearly a league the direction of a Cañada, or ravine, on each side of which there is a long line of Haciendas de Plata, (amalgamation works,) intermixed with houses, varying in height and shape according to the nature of the ground. On one side there is a raised trottoir for foot passengers; but coaches, and animals of all kinds, proceed up the bed of the river, down which, in the rainy season, a torrent occasionally flows with dangerous impetuosity.
Few years pass without some accident occurring; yet no part of the immense mineral wealth that Guanajuato has produced, was ever devoted to the improvement of the present entrance to the town, and you cross the torrent thirty times between the gate and the principal street.
We were met at some distance from Marfil by Mr. Williamson and Mr. Jones, the Directors of the works of the Anglo-Mexican Mining Association, who kindly undertook to lodge our whole party in a house belonging to the Company, where we were happy to find ourselves restored to the luxuries of space and cleanliness, after having been so long re-
