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The morning was really cold, and when we first set out, Popocatapetl was rolled up in a mantle of clouds. The road led us very near him. The wind was very piercing, and K was mounted on a curate's pony, evidently accustomed to short distances and easy travelling. We had been told that it was "muy proprio para Señora," very much suited to a lady, an encomium always passed upon the oldest, most stupid and most obstinate quadruped that the haciendas can boast. We overtook and passed a party of cavalry, guarding some prisoners, whom they were conducting to Puebla.

As the sun rose, all eyes were turned with amazement and admiration, to the great volcano. The