the mules broke down, and they were obliged to stop and let them rest, and feed them.
Early the next morning, leaving the luggage with the muleteer (which, by the way, was at that time a very imprudent proceeding), and taking merely a change of apparel, I set out with Augustin. Almost immediately we commenced ascending a rugged mountain, very steep, and commanding at every step a wild and magnificent view; and from the top saw, at a great distance below us, in the hollow of an amphitheatre of mountains, the village of El Puente, the ground around which was white, and trodden hard by caravans of mules. We descended to the village, and crossed the bridge, which was laid on a stone arch, thrown across a ravine with a cataract foaming through it; at this point we were completely encircled by mountains, wild to sublimity, and reminding me of some of the finest paths of Switzerland. On the other side of the bridge we commenced ascending another mountain. The road was winding, and, when very high up, the view of the village and bridge, at the immense distance below, was surpassingly fine. Descending a short distance, we passed a village of huts, situated on the ridge of the mountain, commanding on both sides a view of an extensive valley four or five thousand feet below us. Continuing on this magnificent ridge, we descended upon a rich table land, and saw a gate opening into grounds which reminded me of park scenery in England, undulating, and ornamented with trees. In the midst of this stood the hacienda of San José, a long, low, stone building, with a corridor in front; it was one of those situations which, when least expected, touch a tender chord, call up cherished associations, make a traveller feel as though he could linger around it for ever, and particularly welcome to us, as we had not breakfasted.
It was a hacienda de ganados, or cattle-hacienda, and had hundreds of cattle roaming over it; but all that it could give us to eat was eggs, tortillas, and beans softened in hot water; the last being about equal to a basket of fresh chips. This over, we made a last push for Guatimala.
When we were yet two leagues from the city, Augustin's horse gave out. I was anxious to have a view of the city before dark, and rode on. Late in the afternoon, as I was ascending a small eminence, two immense volcanoes stood before me, seeming to scorn the earth, and towering to the heavens. They were the great volcanoes of Agua and Fuego, Water and Fire, forty miles distant, and nearly fifteen thousand feet high, wonderfully grand and beautiful. In a few moments the great plain of Guatimala appeared in view, surrounded
