Behold him, on another occasion, on the borders of the tierra templada, where the hot region terminates—near the mountains of Popocatepetl—where such scenery presents itself as can scarcely be equalled, for the strange variety of its features, in any country of the world. Fancy yourself seeking shelter from the heat in a grove of tropical palm-trees, everything-around redolent of the warmth of the country,—gorgeous flowers and luscious fruits, lizards and snakes, and a plantation of sugar-canes in the distance,—then turn and look upwards, and a scene as of the depth of winter will meet your eyes. You may look in one direction on the dark, dry, torrid foliage; and at the same time take in for a background the hills of Popocatepetl, covered with pure and lasting snow! While the dewdrops can never hang long upon the trees in the foreground, the sun seems to have no power to effect a change in the appearance of those white masses in the distance! Our arriero, however, only encourages himself with the idea that he is one stage nearer to his journey's end.
And now he has arrived within sight of the glorious valley of Mexico; a scene which has
