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16, 1863.] Within half-a-mile of the town stands, or stood, a posada of the better class, more inn than tavern, but still of a very primitive sort, compared with similar houses of entertainment in Europe or the States. There was an immense yard, with a wall of adobé bricks, and some barn-like out-buildings, and the house itself was a queer flat-roofed affair, gaudily painted, and having heavy wooden balconies before the small windows, many of which were unglazed. At the gate of the yard, one angle of which, by the way, was formed by the inn, much as a bastion juts from a rampart, at the gate of the yard stood a stout man, in a flat white cap and a loose suit of white linen, the regular cook’s uniform, smoking a paper cigar. Directly over his head hung a withered pine branch, small and unobtrusive enough to warrant the supposition that good wine was to be had within, if the old proverb has two sides to it. The stout man turned at the sound of footsteps, and took off his flat cap with great politeness at the sight of a foreign traveller.

“Your servant, noble sir, if I were fortunate enough to be useful to your Grace!” He rolled out these words in the highflown yet obsequious Mexican manner, and with even more than the usual oily fulness. I thought I could not do better than ask him a question.

“Can you tell me,” I enquired, “whereabouts in Xalapa the diligence changes horses?”

“It is here, worthy Señor,” answered the man at once, and without the smallest hesitation.

“Here,” said I; “that is an odd coincidence:” and then it struck me that my interlocutor might be lying. The nation, I knew, had a reputation for that accomplishment. The fat man was a good physiognomist. He read my doubts as if they had been set before him in large print.

“Nay, Excellency,” said he, “if you disbelieve my humble statement, pray go round to the corral and judge for yourself. There you will see the beasts that are to be put to the diligence when it comes up, which will perhaps be to-morrow morning—who knows? There is my ostler, Diego,” (and he gave a shrill whistle) ready“ready [sic] to show the horses to your worship.” He spoke in tones of injured innocence, and I began, with all a young man’s impulsiveness, to repent of having hurt his feelings. I civilly told him, therefore, that an accident had occurred to the diligence, that its further progress would most likely be tediously slow, and that my wish was to hire a horse and a mounted guide, to proceed rapidly on my journey. “Then, noble sir,” rejoined the innkeeper, with an oily smile and a peculiar action of rubbing together his fat hands, “you can be served to marvel. Your Grace shall have a horse that might serve the Conquistador himself, were he yet on earth, and a guide such as a guide should be—quick, clever, well acquainted with the road. Certainly, illustrious sir; certainly.”

“And the price?”

The innkeeper bowed deferentially. “We should not quarrel on that score,” he said; “he would leave the hire to my distinguished liberality.”

All this was very pleasant, too pleasant to be true, in fact; but it was also very plausible. I began to think I could not do better than take some refreshment and start afterwards. The landlord thought so too. His poor house and all it held were at my disposal, he said; the larder was not ill-provided, and he himself, Pedro Mendez, my unworthy servant, had been reckoned a tolerable cook, and had often been commended for his skill and attention by many noble caballeros and ladies of quality. Might he hope for my custom? Would I dismiss my mozo, and allow his ostler to carry in my effects?”

By this time the ostler had arrived—a swarthy, broad-breasted fellow, with a red handkerchief twisted round his head, gold rings in his ears, and a jacket and calconcillos of dirty white cotton. His short hair was crisp and woolly, his eyes fierce and restless, and his teeth, being filed to a sharp point, gave him anything but an agreeable expression when he smiled, while his complexion was nearly African. He was, indeed, a Zambo, or a half-breed between the negro and the Indian; and I had never seen one before. I suppose the host saw that his servant’s aspect had not produced a very favourable impression, for he instantly launched out into praises of Diego, speaking partly in Spanish and partly in broken French. Diego was an honest creature, the pearl of grooms, the gem of ostlers, the best soul in the world, a lamb, a real lamb. Well, the landlord ought to have known his own domestic’s character best; but I could not help thinking that, for a lamb, Diego looked uncommonly like a wolf, and a very grim wolf to boot. I paid the Indian and discharged him, and the patient fellow made his reverence and plodded off. But still I lingered in the gateway, gazing at the distant town, no longer reddened by the after-glow of the sinking sun, and I felt an instinctive temptation to bid Pedro Mendez good night, and trudge on to Xalapa. One word decided me.

“Would your Grace wish supper at once?”

I was very hungry, and, dismissing my fancies, I made a prompt reply in the affirmative. Diego, who had not spoken a word, now picked up my little portmanteau, and would have done as much for the bags, but I had a prejudice, in those early days, against letting them out of my sight for an instant. We had all kinds of traditions among us in the messengers’ room—Tom, about the wonderful tricks that had been played on couriers, and I believe some of us fancied that foreign governments employed agents little less adroit than Robert Houdin, in getting a peep at our prosy old protocols.

So I said I would carry the bags myself, and thus I entered the inn. There was a great kitchen on the ground floor, with a sort of parlour partitioned off it, or partly so, something like the coffee-room at one of those London chop-houses where you see your steak broiling on the gridiron as a whet to hunger. Besides kitchen and parlour there were several cupboards and store-rooms, with padlocked doors, and a narrow wooden stair led upwards to the sleeping apartments. In the parlour, when we entered, sat in a cushioned chair a fat comely woman, fast asleep, and on a stool drawn up to the long table sat a pale lad of sixteen, trying some manœuvre with a pack of