It was quite early when we came to Tamahù; and as we entered the little town (1,517 inhabitants), which is twelve leagues from Coban, we saw a shrine with images as horrible as any of the idols of the ancient Polynesians. Most of the houses had tiled roofs, and looked neat and comfortable. At one of the best we stopped for coffee; and while the preparations for our meal were going on, Frank and I went up to the church hard by. The door was tied with a rope, and we found little of interest within, except images closely resembling East Indian idols, and around all a flavor of mild decay. Our hostess—for always it was the señora who managed the hospitalities and took the pay therefor—gave us rolls and fried plantains with our good coffee, and the table and bench were of some choice wood, darker and harder than mahogany. Fine roses blossomed in the yard (it was November), and cotton-dyeing and weaving, the principal industries of the town, were carried on in nearly every house. Lime-burning and tile-making also employ a goodly number of the people. As we rode into the country, we passed many clumps of a fine arborescent composite some twenty feet high,—one of the giants of this great and widely spread family. Crimson lobelias (like cardinal-flowers) with red stems, crenulate leaves, and a very unpleasant odor, were common. The road was badly gullied, and the nightly rains had made the Polochic, which still kept at our side, an angry looking torrent quite unfordable. The grades of the road were good, and showed engineering skill and constant care; but for all this my horse broke down before noon, as I had expected, and our boy, after some consultation with the drivers of a mule-train we passed, captured a stray mule for me and turned the horse loose. All the horses here seem so feeble, and many of the mules so sore, that I seriously thought of capturing one of the powerful bulls feeding peaceably by the path, and riding him in true African style; but Frank earnestly dissuaded me, so we had to walk half the time to save our wretched hacks.