we halted to refresh ourselves, as the sun was blistering our skins and we homed with a fever that was scarcely mitigated by profuse perspiration. After leaving this village, Cuautla appeared immediately on our left, with a rapid river running by it; while, in front, was the stately hacienda of Cuauwistla, belonging to the Dominican monks of Mexico, from the revenues of which a liberal sum is annually set apart for the entertainment of travellers.
By some accident, the chief of our party had neglected to obtain a letter of introduction to any of the haciendas in the neighborhood of Cuautla, and we expected to procure comfortable accommodations at the inn of the town. We therefore pressed onward, without stopping at Cuauwistla, where, I had no doubt, the general letter of introduction with which I had been favored by the Archbishop of the United States to all the Church in Mexico, would have procured us an immediate welcome.
Cuautla is a perfect Southern city. The houses are small and airy; clear water gurgles through the middle of the street; broad-leaved trees fling their branches over the low dwellings. The women loll, half-dressed, in the windows and doors, gazing at nothing or each other; the men seem to have as little to do as the women, and the whole has an air of the "dolce far niente," which prevails in this mild and tempting climate.
Passing through the square, we entered a bye-street and arrived at the door of the meson.
I remembered immediately my experience at Perote, and the account given by Latrobe of his experience at this very inn.
The gate of the court-yard was thrown open for us. In front lay a narrow lane, on one side of which was a shed, and beneath it a couple of sheep munching a stack of green corn in a corner, while a couple of turkeys picked up what they could find. On the roof a lot of sheep-skins, recently taken from the animal, were spread out to dry in the sun. At the end of the lane was the kitchen of the meson, which seemed also to be the cobbler's stall of the burly landlord, who, tucking up his apron in front, ran out to salute us before we dismounted, followed by his stout wife, and a greasy scullion as fat, dirty, and disgusting as Maritornes.
We inquired if he could "accommodate us?" "Si Señores, si Señores!" said he, with a strong emphasis on the si, as if surprised at our even doubting for an instant the capabilities of his establishment.
It will be remembered that we now numbered twelve in the party. We asked him (still without dismounting) to show us the rooms.
From the end of the lane I have described, another struck off at right angles with it, and both of its sides were adorned with a row of one-story windowless cabins, over the doors of which appeared, in true hotel fashion, the numbers 1. — 2. — 3. — 4. — 5. — 6.
