G got down to examine, and the landlord led the way. He first opened No. 3. It was eight feet long, about six wide, and ten high; in one corner lay a pool of mud on the earthen floor, and the walls were literally black with fleas. G at once objected to this, and the landlord said that it was of course not intended for the Señores, but for the baggage and the mozos. He had "another, more comfortable" for ourselves; and stepping across the street, opened No. 6, which, from its exterior, appeared to be of the same size of No. 3. Scarcely had he turned the bolt—when out walked a full grown ass!
But our discontent did not satisfy the landlord—he did not see why we could not be "accommodated in rooms that were good enough for other folks—and we might praise the Virgin if we got better in Cuautla!"
There was no time for discussion, however, and as we were hungry, and would rather betake ourselves to the fields and sleep under the trees than submit to the vermin of Cuautla, I proposed that we should return to Cuauwistla. In the meantime, however, Don Juan Black had bethought him of all his friends in the village, and discovered that the administrador of Santa Inez was an old acquaintance who had often requested a visit in his journeys to the tierra caliente.
It is true that we made a formidable party, with horses and mules, besides our own ravenous appetites, but Black insisted that he knew the people of the country, and that we would undoubtedly be welcome at the neighboring plantation.
He was, therefore, at once put at the head of the troop, and we marched out of the court-yard under a shower of abuse from the cobbling host—as a set of "caprichosos Ingleses, who deserved to rot on the road-side." His spouse and Maritornes fell into their parts of the denunciatory trio, as the hoof of the last horse struck his abominable gate-sill.
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The hacienda of Santa Inez is situated in the midst of sugar-fields to the north of the town, and the works, residence, chapel, and Indian village, are bordered by a beautiful stream among some of the finest forest trees I have seen in the Republic. I shall never forget the kind reception of Don Felipe Vargas;—it was that of a tried old friend. Ample accommodations and beds were offered us; a meal (which, in apologizing for, he called a "penitencia,") was quickly spread on snowy damask, served with a fine display of silver and excellent claret; and the whole was seasoned with a welcome that will mark Don Felipe in my memory, as a man to be trusted in times of difficulty.
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It was Saturday evening, and after a walk in the charming groves that border the brook and Indian village, from which there was a noble pros-
