As we came at last, after a hard day’s ride, into the uninteresting town, we found the streets all carefully named, as _Avenida de Barrios, salida por Mejico_ (Barrios Street, the way to Mexico),—which was as useful as it would be to put a sign on the corner of Broadway, “Cortland Street, the way to Philadelphia.” All the inhabitants seemed to be in the Plaza, listening to a band and watching some fair acrobats who tumbled on mats and swung on a horizontal bar. After waiting some time before the locked doors of the Hotel del Centro, the proprietor came home and let us in. Tough meat, frijoles, bread, and tolerable chocolate were all we could get; and the vile dogs were even more troublesome than usual. Our beds were made up in the dining-room, and we had pillows and sheets again,—the only good things this posada afforded. [Illustration: THE PLAZA OF SACAPULAS.] The morning was overcast; but Frank and I walked to the campo santo, nearly a mile from town. High walls of adobe surrounded it, and a locked gate kept us out; but we peered in over the heaps of white lilies (_Lilium candidum_) and marigolds offered at the entrance, and saw masonry tombs of very bizarre forms, some painted white, others red and blue, or blue and white, in checks. The meadows all around were intersected by wide ditches which we had no little trouble in crossing, the bare legs of the natives rendering bridges quite unnecessary. When one was beyond our jump we threw in the washing-stones on the bank until we had enough for stepping-stones. Returning to town, we paid our respects to the Jefe politico, Don Antonio Rivera, who is a young man exceedingly polite and obliging, and we found practice made it much easier to converse than when we met the Governor of Coban. Don Antonio showed us fine specimens of the woods of his neighborhood which had been prepared for an exhibition in Guatemala City; but he could not tell us the names, and sent for an old Indio who was better informed. This Indio also served to show us what the Jefe evidently considered a very amusing garment,—his trousers, which were in the usual black woollen _jerga_, cut up in front as high as mid thigh, so that they can be rolled up behind when the wearer girds up his loins to work. Cloths of various kinds were brought in for our inspection, and the prices given. These seemed high, for the material is only a _vara_ (thirty-three inches) wide, and is sold in _vara_ lengths. Not satisfied with showing us all that the market afforded, the kind Jefe furnished us with a guide to the ancient city of Utatlan, or Gumarcaah, and a mozo to carry my photographic kit. A walk of three long miles westward brought us to a great disappointment. It is human to like what one has not got; Americans have an extreme respect for ruins, and we were no exception to the mass of our countrymen.