conspire to raise the southern lakes to an unusual level, the danger to the capital would not be lessened.
After thus spending the morning in the survey of this great work, we prepared to return by the direct road to Mexico, eleven leagues distant. Guautitlan is a considerable town, with a fine church, and curious old colonnaded buildings, lying in a valley at the northern side of that spur of hills which connects the Cerro do Cristobal with the main eastern branch of the Sierra Madre. The river of that name is properly a tributary of Lake Zumpango, though I believe its waters now pass at once into the desague. It is the most powerful stream in the valley of Mexico.
The passage of the ridge to the town of Tanepantla presented nothing very worthy of note; but, when in continuing our route through the cultivated fields in its vicinity, the view upon the opening plain, lake, and wide panorama of mountains, with the domes of the city illuminated by the declining sun, again unfolded itself to us, we were at a loss for language to express our sense of its indescribable beauty.
Our amusing excursion had been but of four days' duration.
LETTER VIII.
We found, on our return to the city, after the excursion in the environs as detailed in my last, that the good humour of the inhabitants, which I have described as a little frozen during Lent, was undergoing a gradual thaw.
The government of the country had repented its stern conduct to the votaries of Terpsichore, Euterpe, and Thalia, and the long train of petty artists attached to the corps d'opera. It had graciously revoked the edict of banishment—had advanced a part of the money justly claimed by the contract—and had agreed to favour with
