After riding some miles, we came to open fields, and passed by several fine estates surrounded by ditches and cactus fences in full bloom. The fourth was that which we came specially to visit. A man opened the gate, and we rode in and dismounted under the corridor of the house, which was a large, square structure, built of adobes, and tiled. The proprietor was not at home, and the family, in the unsettled state of the country, had retired to the city. We were nevertheless received with the greatest civility by the mayor-domo, who insisted that we were hot and thirsty, and wanted “_algo fresco_” and incontinently despatched a boy to get some fresh cocoa-nuts, the milk of which, when the nut is not too much matured, is transparent as water, and makes a cool and delightful beverage,—especially when a drop of brandy is mixed in “to take off the edge,” and prevent fevers! The mayor-domo complained loudly of the condition of public affairs; now was the time for collecting the cacao, but no men were to be had; a few of those who had been employed on the estate were implicated in the insurrection, others had been pressed into the army, and still others had fled to the seclusion of the fields, to avoid the same fate. He had only half a dozen boys and some women to assist him, and they were “sin valor, ninquno,” of no account. He showed us a large square space where the ground was beaten hard and swept clean, in which the nuts, after being removed from the husks, were spread on skins to dry. They required to be turned often to prevent moulding, and after becoming thoroughly dry, had to be carefully assorted, one by one, and packed in skins.