before reaching the village, you were in an instant transported into the vegetation peculiar to cold climates. There the warm breeze and blue heavens were gone, and in their stead a cold north wind blew sharply through the icy vapor which floated around us. Our eyes met only a dull sky, and an arid soil torn up and thickly covered with volcanic boulders. The fog, which at first crept along the surface of the ground, and rolled about in volumes like dust under the feet of our horses, was not long in mounting aloft, and hiding from our view the tops of the tall pines. We could scarcely distinguish one another in the dense mist which the icy wind was driving right in our faces. Deep ravines ran parallel with the road, which was of volcanic formation, and it was a difficult matter to prevent the mules from straggling in a path so hard to follow. I could not help admiring the calmness of Don Blas, the great importance of whose trust absolutely frightened me. As for the arriero, he was in great perplexity, and he galloped incessantly up and down the whole length of the convoy, the sparks flying from his mule's feet at every stroke. The poor man inspired me with a lively interest, for every thing he had in life was at stake; an immense responsibility rested upon him, and he counted and recounted his mules every minute with an anxiety painful to behold. When night had fully come on, Don Blas divided his escort into two bodies. With one he rode at the head of the convoy, and left the other under the charge of Juanito, his ex-asistente. The march was gloomy and silent, the chief noise heard being the tinkle of the bell of the leading mule, the songs of the soldiers, and the clattering of the mules' feet on the stony road. Riding alone on the flank of the convoy, I passed
