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236 lot to live for a season on the banks of the Chesapeake, he would manage to convert himself occasionally into a stalk of "wild celery," to decoy the canvas-backs within reach of his weapon.

A ride of an hour over flats, partially covered with wretched looking salt-works, brought us to the grove of the Contador, which had been distinctly visible as soon as we left the garden suburb of Tezcoco.

Our party led their horses toward some higher ground, north of the square, which is formed by a double line of magnificent cypresses, near five hundred in number, and inclosing about ten acres of ground—while I (although warned by Ignacio) kept on to the interior of the grove, intending to coast around the trees in expectation of finding abundance of game. After lingering for half an hour in the grove, and finding my labor useless, I thought it best to take a short cut across the square in order to reach my companions; but, scarcely had my horse advanced a dozen paces over the apparently solid earth, when he suddenly halted and snorted, as if unwilling to proceed. I applied both whip and spar; and, in the next moment, he was above his girths—sinking in a morass! I sprang immediately on top of the saddle, and, seizing the lasso, leaped to the last spot where the animal had stood firmly. In the meantime my poor beast was sinking deeper and deeper—and when, by dint of the whip and encouragement, I brought his head around, he had already sunk to the saddle-cloth. Rolling himself slightly on his side, he made room to lift his legs, and thus, gradually floundered-out of the deceptive marsh. When I rejoined my friends, they congratulated me on escaping as fortunately as I had done.

At the northwestern angle of this square I found a double row of cypresses, running westwardly toward a dyke. North of this again, I discovered a deep tank, of oblong shape, neatly walled with cut stone, and filled with water. Of the great antiquity of all these remains there can be no doubt, and it struck me that the interior of the cypress square was once a pond or mimic lake, filled no doubt from the neighboring Tezcoco, and forming part of the gardens of the luxurious monarchs. Unless this were the case, it is difficult to account for the spongy and yielding mass in the centre of the grove, while the surrounding grounds are dry and cultivated.

After lingering in the pleasant shade for an hour, and amusing ourselves with rifle-shooting at zopilotes perched on the highest branches of the cypresses, we started off (marshalled by tio on his bull Sancho,) toward the marshes that lay between the grove and town. Just as we were passing through a small Indian village near the salt-works, a thunder storm came on, and we immediately took shelter in the house of one of Ignacio's numerous acquaintances. The worthy man was a candle-maker by trade, and had a manufactory in full blast in the adjoining