_ disappears from the table.

While moving about the apartments, my comrade pointed out two young men
in the Mexican uniform of captains, who were deserters from the American
army; one had been a lieutenant, named Sullivan; both bore the marks of
dissipation in unmistakable lines around their faces.

We again touched our hats, an invariable sign of courtesy, religiously
practised by all civilized beings on entering or leaving a public
assemblage, and walked into the street. We took a sort of corkscrew
promenade for a little space, when, by some strange flight of footsteps,
we found ourselves on the pavement of a triangular platform. Like to the
frame of a convex mirror, encasing a sheet of blue moonlit sky--lay
before, and as it were, trembling and tottering above us--one of the
many remarkable and scenic views of Guanajuato. Full in front against
the vaulted sky stood a double towered church, with dome, spires and
windows glistening like a transparency, then circling around were
bright, gay-colored dwellings, with lights dancing from casement to
casement, while each separate cornice, balcony and window, threw back to
the silver moon a thousand sparkling reflections--all admirably
contrasted with the sombre shadows of the deep gorge below. The scene
was truly beautiful, and when within a few feet of our position, the
full soft tones of a piano came thrilling through the still night, and a
female voice rose high and sweetly, "ah!" cried my friend, "there's a
deal to live for yet;" and we retraced our windings to the inn.

We were aroused at the first cock-crow, to take our seats in the
diligence; and rattling out of the city by the road we came, mounted a
steep eminence, when, gaining a flat sandy region, we soon lost sight of
Guanajuato. During the forenoon we passed through a number of fine
populous towns. At Irapuato, M. Ribaud and his friend left us. In
Salamanca, where we stopped to bait and change horses, a number of
beggars surrounded the coach, and in one I at once detected the pure
Milesian brogue and visage. He was whining and limping about, with a
tattered bat and stick, imploring alms in the most ludicrous attempts at
the Castilian tongue. "Why, Pat, you're a deserter," said I, from the
top of the vehicle. "Who siz that?" quoth he, evidently startled.
Forgetting his infirmities, clapping on his sombrero, and clenching the
stick in readiness for a fight, or flight, as he peered among the crowd;
and stepping