e combination of all, with rapid travelling, is not only enough
to jar one's nerves and aid his digestion, but to give a disinclination
for a continuance of it.

Parting with old Cypriano, who gave me some sensible advice about
entrusting Juan with too much change, I sought the Diligence
Fonda--swallowed a hasty breakfast, and with no heavier baggage than a
spare shirt and tooth-brush, took my place.

Contrary to expectation, and agreeably disappointed, I found the coach a
thorough modern-built Yankee vehicle--comfortable and strong, with noble
teams of five and six horses, that tugged us along quite ten miles the
hour. The road was good, and a heavy shower had slaked the dust. The
country was again broken into rocky hills and ravines. At two o'clock we
reached the richest mining district of Mexico, in the neighborhood of
Guanajuato. Within a league of the city proper the route leads through a
valley into a deep split gorge, with rugged, arid hills running high up
on all sides. Passing a number of mining _haciendas_ of great extent,
the city, bit by bit, begins to unfold itself. It presents a most
extraordinary and picturesque appearance. The houses seem toppling one
upon the other--built in zig-zags, up and down sharp corners and
defiles--with the spire or towers of some church perched away in
mid-heaven, all brightly frescoed--the bases and gorges below being
filled in with thick mist--leaving the loftier portions in distinct
outline--closely resembling a city suspended in the sky. No scene of the
theatre could be painted more singularly novel. It fairly made me giddy,
as we came whirling through the outer defiles--turning hither and
thither--catching a panoramic view of the town, like a glimpse in a
prism, or revolutions of a kaleidoscope--when every moment one might
expect the whole fabric thrown into a sparkling succession of bright
colors--and what with the continual booming of reports from blastings in
the distant mines, I felt quite relieved when the diligence dashed down
a little pit of a plaza, and drove through a _porte cocher_ into the
court-yard of our Fonda.

My coach companions were pleasant fellows--there was a padre, two mining
agents, a gentlemanly young Mexican officer who had been adjutant to
Valencia, at the battle of Churubusco, and beside me sat a gentleman
possessing a remarkably handsome face and person, with the loss of his
right arm. He was French, Mons. Ribaud; he had been many years in the