will excuse this long silence. Our house in town we leave to the guardianship of the housekeeper—the other servants follow us here.
This house is very large, and has a fine garden and orchard full of fruit, with pretty walks all through it, and a sort of underwood of roses and sweet pease. It is a great pulque hacienda, and besides what is sent into Mexico for sale, the court is constantly filled with the half-naked Indians from the village, who come to have their jarros filled with that inspiring beverage. Then there is Doña Barbara, the guardian of the pulque—a Spanish administrador, a number of good-looking Indian women, and babies à discretion. There is a small chapel, a piazza, with handsome pillars going all round the interior courtyard of the house—a billiard-table, and plenty of good rooms. In front of the house are the maguey fields, and the azotea commands a beautiful view of the neighboring villages, San Angel, Coyohuacan, Miscuaque, &c., with their woods and gardens, as well as of the city itself, with its lakes and volcanoes.
As Cn's affairs take him to Mexico nearly every day, we feel a little lonely in this large house, even though perfectly comfortable; and besides the extreme stillness and solitude, it is not considered safe for us to walk out alone; consequently the orchard must bound our wishes. And, of course, being prohibited from going further, we have the greatest desire to do so! In the evening, however, when our caballeros return, we frequently walk down to the village, where the English Minister has also a house.
San Angel is pretty in its own way, with its fields
