It was the intention of our party to start at five o’clock in the morning, as we had to cover forty-eight miles that day in order to reach a decent stopping-place for the night. The old Indian did not show up until nearly six, and he then came very much excited for some one had broken into his stable and stolen a saddle and a couple of bridles. He was able, however, to fit us out in fairly respectable style, and we started on our long and—to me—uncomfortable but never-to-be-forgotten journey. It was just at sunrise and the beauty of the picture as we left the city and climbed the encircling girdle of hills will ever remain with me. I could not refrain from looking back several times at the historic old city with its low buildings and lofty churches which seemed to have such an unusual height. The bells were ringing out the mass and all was quiet, for the traffic had not yet begun in the city. In the distance the great volcano Agua looked down upon the slumbering city from its stately, cloud-flecked cone. A few drivers of oxen had started their awkward trains for the day’s work. The skill with which these drivers guided, turned, stopped, and started these bulky “critters,” who draw their loads entirely from the yokes attached to their horns, is remarkable. No goad or whip was needed, for a long slim stick, and a shrill, sibilant hiss, seemed all that was necessary to guide them. With heads bowed in submission, these mild-eyed beasts of burden and faithful friends of man seemed to obey the _carreteros_ implicitly except when, once in a while, an unruly one might display a slight perverseness. Then it was a revelation to listen to the blood-curdling blasphemy that poured forth in an unremitting stream from the amber-hued driver’s lips. For about twenty miles there is a rough carriage road, and many journeyed in vehicles that far in order to avoid as much of the long ride on mules as possible. The scenery is beautiful as the road winds along near a stream for a long distance. We caught many glimpses of domestic scenes in the little huts along the road where the chickens, pigs and dogs seemed as much at home in the house, which usually consists of one room, as any of the human members. One writer gives an account of stopping at one of these huts at night. He says that [Illustration: OX-CART AND NATIVE DRIVER.] “ten human beings, twelve chickens, three pigs, and insects innumerable passed the night in a room not more than twenty feet square.” I can well believe in the literal truth of this statement from the sights that I saw all over the country. The most interesting feature of the journey was the constant stream of men and women on the road, most of them headed for Guatemala City. The visitor to this country who confines his journeying to the iron horse misses these unique experiences and can not get so good an insight into the country and its people as he who is willing to endure a little hardship.