lly stuck in the mud. It was impossible
to go faster than a walk, and, afraid that night would overtake us, in
which case, as there was no moon, we might lose our way, I dismounted
and hurried on, leading my horse.

It was nearly dark when we reached the top of the last range. The view
was the grandest I had seen in the country. On the very brink stood the
church of La Hermita, below the village of Oxcutzcab, and beyond a
boundless wooded plain, dotted in three places with villages. We
descended by a steep and stony path, and, winding along the front of La
Hermita, came upon a broad pavement of stones from the ruined buildings
of an aboriginal town. We passed under an imposing gateway, and,
entering the village, stopped at the first house for a draught of
water, where, looking back, we saw the shades of night gathering over
the sierra, a token of our narrow escape. There were ruined mounds in
the neighbourhood, which I intended to look at in passing, but we had
still four leagues to make, and pushed on. The road was straight and
level, but stony, and very soon it became so dark that we could see
nothing. My horse had done a hard day's work, and stumbled so that I
could scarcely keep him from falling. We roused the barking dogs of two
villages, of which, however, I could distinguish, nothing but the
outline of their gigantic churches, and at nine o'clock rode into the
plaza of Ticul. It was crowded with Indians, blazing with lights, and
occupied by a great circular scaffold for a bull-ring, and a long,
enclosed arbour, from the latter of which strains of music gave notice
that the bayle de las Mestizas had already begun.

Once more I received a cordial welcome from the cura Carillo; but the
music from the arbour reminded me that the moments of pleasure were
fleeting. Our trunks had been ordered over from Nohcacab, and, making a
hurried toilet, I hastened to the ball-room, accompanied by the padre
Brizena; the crowd outside opened a way, Don Philippe Peon beckoned to
me as I entered, and in a moment more I was seated in one of the best
places at the bayle de las Mestizas. After a month in Indian ranchos,
that day toiling among ruins, almost driven to distraction by
garrapatas, clambering over a frightful sierra, and making a journey
worse than any sixty miles in our country, all at once I settled down
at a fancy ball, amid music, lights, and pretty women, in the full
enjoyment of an armchair and a cigar. For a moment a s