es wanting to
furnish forth the feast. There was _pulque_ for those who chose to drink
it. I never could stomach that fermented milk of human unkindness, which
combines the odor of a dairy that has been turned into a grogshop with
the flavor of rotten eggs. There was wine of Burgundy and wine of
Bordeaux; there was Champagne: these three from the Don's cellar in
Mexico, and the last cooled, not with vulgar ice, but with snow from the
summit of Popocatepetl,--snow that had been there from the days of
Montezuma and Guatimozin; while as _chasse_ and _pousse_ to the
exquisitely flavored Mexican coffee, grown, ground, and roasted on the
_hacienda_, we had some very ripe old French Cognac, (1804, I think, was
the brand,) and some Peruvian _pisco_, a strong white cordial, somewhat
resembling _kirsch-wasser_, and exceeding toothsome. We talked and
laughed till we grew sleepy, (the edibles and potables had of course
nothing to do with our somnolence,) and then, the farm-house of the
_hacienda_ having seemingly as many rooms as the Vatican, each man hied
him to a cool chamber, where he found a trundle-bed, or a hammock, or a
sofa, and gravely laid himself out for an hour's _siesta_. Then the
Administrador woke us all up, and gleefully presented us with an
enormous bowl of sangaree, made of the remains of the Bordeaux and the
brandy and the pisco, and plenty of ice,--ice this time,--and sugar, and
limes, and slices of pineapple, Madam,--the which he had concocted
during our slumber. We drained this,--one gets so thirsty after
breakfast in Mexico,--and then to horse again for a twelve miles' ride
back to the city. I omitted to mention two or three little circumstances
which gave a zest and piquancy to the entertainment. When we arrived at
the _hacienda_, although servitors were in plenty, each cavalier
unsaddled and fed his own steed; and when we addressed ourselves to our
_siesta_, every one who didn't find a double-barrelled gun at the head
of his bed took care to place a loaded revolver under his pillow. For
accidents will happen in the best-regulated families; and in Mexico you
can never tell at what precise moment Cacus may be upon you.

Riding back to the _siempre leal y insigne ciudad_ at about three
o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun was at its hottest, was no joke.
Baking is not precisely the word, nor boiling, nay, nor frying;
something which is a compound of all these might express the sensation
I, for one, felt. For