I have already said that, for obvious reasons, most of the travelling in Central America is done in the morning or evening. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, therefore, when we started for El Viejo, twelve leagues, or thirty-six miles distant. This, with us, would be considered quite a day’s journey in itself, but here it is what is called an evening “paseo,” or ride. Our course led through Subtiaba, crossing the stream which flows past that pueblo at a place where art had cut down the steep banks, and nature woven an evergreen roof above—one of those dark, cool nooks in which the water birds love to gather, and where the Indian girls come to bathe—beyond which spread out the luxuriant maize fields, traversed by hedge rows like the lines on a chess board. The road, bordered with trees, to protect the traveller from the sun, wound amongst these fields for five or six miles, when it entered the forest again, and soon came to a deep ravine, with abrupt banks, seventy or eighty feet high, at the bottom of which flows a large clear stream, called, at this point, Quesalguaque. It rises near the volcano of Telica, and for some distance from its source it bears the name of Rio Telica. It flows into the harbor of Realejo, and for a number of leagues from its mouth, is a tide-water stream, and called “El Estero de Doña Paula.” This is the largest stream on the plain of Leon, and is probably that to which some map-makers have given the name of Rio Tosta. The cart-road descends the ravine circuitously, and ascends in like manner; traversing nearly a mile in passing from one bank to the other. The mule-road, however, is direct, but the descent and ascent are both abrupt and difficult. I hardly thought either possible, and was really amazed to find my horse attempt them without so much as the touch of the spur, and quite as a matter of course. Emerging from the ravine, we came to some cleared fields, (one of which was planted with pine-apples, now nearly ripe, and looking wonderfully tempting in the sun), in the midst of which was a small collection of huts, called the Pueblecita de Quesalguaque. We stopped for a moment to fill our pockets with delicious _nisperos_ from a tree overhanging the road, its treasures free to all who chose “to come and eat,” and then diverging from the camino real, struck into the narrow mule-path which leads through the Monte de San Juan. This portion of the road has a bad reputation throughout the whole country; and during the late troubles had been the scene of several tragic occurrences. The robbers or ladrones who infested it, however, had been hunted by volunteers from Leon and Chinendaga, and shot down like wild beasts; a summary, but most effectual way of preventing further depredations. At one point we passed a number of newly-erected crosses, marking the place where murder had been done. But all was still and peaceful now, and we saw nothing to startle us except a _Tigre_,