We passed through the plaza with its picturesque church, catching only a glimpse of the lake, as the mist still hung low, and the hills were veiled in clouds, and then rode on through lanes which were continuous bowers of the richest greenery and brilliant with flowers and fruit. A few miles further on we reached the village of Santa Cruz, and struck the main road to Coban; then the travelling became very bad, for the rainy season was not over and the long lines of ox-carts which carry the coffee down to the Port of Panzos had cut the soft road-bed into rough ruts and deep holes. We had still four leagues to ride, and night came on before we reached our destination. My mule floundered into the great holes full of half-dried mud, and it was all I could do to keep my seat. Outside the town we were met by Mr. Thomae, to whom we had telegraphed from San Cristóbal, and who had ridden out to meet us and escort us to his home, where his wife gave us the kindliest welcome. A clean bedroom, white sheets, and plenty of towels offered a refreshing change after camps, conventos, and cabildos, and an ever-thoughtful hospitality induced us to stay on for a whole pleasant week in our comfortable quarters.
ZOPILOTES.
