of Auvergne in France,—also, a region of extinct volcanoes. We arrived at Santa Catarina about three in the afternoon; there, while our animals rested and fed in front of the cabildo, we bespoke a comida at a little cook-shop in the Plaza, and then explored the poor little church, which was dark, windowless, and wholly bespattered with bat-filth,—pictures, crucifix and all. We beat a hasty retreat from this unseemly sanctuary; and after a wash in the public fountain, returned to the _cocina_, where we were served with tortillas, fried eggs, plantains, frijoles, and coffee,—for which we paid three reals, or thirty-seven and a half cents. As we left the town we passed a noisy _trapiche_, or sugar-mill, consisting of three vertical wooden rollers turned by four oxen. It sounded very like one of the ancient cider-mills in New England. A good mill could make a fair percentage of sugar out of the crushed cane passing through these rollers. From the town we found a rather steep descent, and at the bottom a large river to ford, whose bed was full of loose rocks,—making the passage very difficult. We had not gone two leagues from Santa Catarina before darkness came on, and we camped by the roadside. A cheery fire and our blankets made the camp very comfortable, and the little child was quiet all night,—not civilized enough, Frank declared, to cry instead of sleep. The dew-fall was very heavy; it is probably always so at this dry season. We were up at light, and sent the men to find water while we got the fire burning and made coffee. With honey and wheaten rolls we breakfasted well,—indeed, our out-door life in this good climate made us feel at peace with all men, and satisfied—nay, pleased—with everything that befell us. The morning was cloudy; but we knew the clouds did not mean rain at this season, and we were in the saddle before the dew was quite dried from our blankets. As we went along we several times passed black obsidian chips, some recent, but most of them quite old,—evidently the refuse of the knife-makers, whose work in ancient times was much in demand; the long, slim blades used in circumcision were never used but once, then consecrated in the temples or broken; and those knives used for other purposes were of course brittle, and soon destroyed. [Illustration: Mozo on the Road.]