veiled sun-dried countenance, and piercing eyes, that appeared to possess the secret of perpetual motion. Nor his old blue serapé, with its raised woollen border and ragged edges; his battered, ribbonless sombrero, with its excavated brim; his shirtless breast, with its adjacent faded sash—his only bosom friend; and his frowsy leathern small-clothes—which, generously opening at intervals on his legs, displayed his old green garters to public admiration and great advantage.
He had an elastic, ardent temper, which, in spite of unfavourable circumstances and foul weather, ever seemed to uplift him again, as suddenly as he had been depressed. He was very intelligent, for one of his class; had travelled much in his own country, and appeared to possess the faculty of reasoning on what he saw—a remarkably scarce quality among the poor in Mexico. I learned that he had been once overtaken by some detachments of the American army, as he was hastily returning from a trading expedition; and had been detained by a roving band in the capacity of a guide. So soon as I became aware of this chapter of his past experiences, therefore, I endeavoured to gain some little information
