About noon we came to Jutiapa, situated on a plain through which the Rio Salado has cut a deep valley. We entered by a gateway and found the Plaza. This was paved, and in the midst a dribbling fountain indicated a very insufficient water-supply for the town. Before us was the church, behind us the Casa Nacional, and the other sides were occupied by stores and the house of the Jefe. Our anxious inquiries for a posada were met with the too frequent answer that there was no such thing here in this town of some twelve hundred inhabitants. Good fortune directed us to inquire of a person in a shop at a corner just beyond the church; and this resulted in a most hospitable invitation to the house of Señor Alonzo Rozales, a Spanish gentleman whose name will be always a charm to conjure by. He gave us a large room opening to the street as well as into the patio, and we at once felt at home. We had walked many miles, I leading, Frank driving, the poor tired animals. It was fifteen leagues from Cuilapa to Jutiapa, and the road was very hard and maiz very scarce. We were obliged to wait here for our mozos, whom we had sent from Guatemala but had not overtaken on the road; and we were happy enough that the necessary delay came in so comfortable a place. Our host brought us new mats for our bedsteads, and pillows trimmed with lace in Spanish style; then, after killing a very large and crusty scorpion which had established himself over the door, presented us with a bottle of Val de Peña,—a fine red wine from Spain,—and left us to our rest. Sunday morning came, but no signs of our mozos. The church was closed, as there was no resident padre; we got in, however, while an attendant opened it to do some work on the bells. The roof was apparently arranged for a fortification. Within we saw the skull of an Indio (?) built into the stucco over the _agua bendita_, and a painting representing a padre offering the consecrated wafer to a kneeling ass,—apparently in the office of the communion, as the padre holds the chalice in his other hand. A figure in the background—perhaps the owner of the ass—has long mustachios, wears a turban, and holds up his hands in astonishment. No explanation of this curious subject could be obtained there; and after rejecting Balaam and his ass, we concluded that this was the ass on which Christ rode to Jerusalem. As volcanoes are baptized into the Church, why not asses?