We withdrew from the party at an early hour, after presenting our sincere congratulations to the mother of the “orator of the day,” and bidding adieu to the hospitable family. Once more in the street, we were lost in meditation. The incidents of the day came into review before us—the first day that we had passed here among strangers in a strange land. We found ourselves absolutely regretting to part from friends of an hour’s creation. He who has wandered much in the world may have experienced similar sensations. These are some of the transitory passages, “the sunny spots” of life, which memory most dearly cherishes. They are snatched, as it were, from the dull round of existence, and are sanctified by the unexpected gratification that attends them. These are a part of the items that constitute what man calls happiness—the jewels, no doubt; and we shall make them lawful prize wherever and whenever they fall in our way. These reflections brought us to our lodgings, where preparations were yet to be made for our departure for Merida the next morning; and, in spite of old philosophy or new acquaintance, “The hour approaches, Tam maun ride.” At nine o’clock in the morning my conveyance was ready at the door. It was a rude vehicle, called here a _calesa_, somewhat resembling the old-fashioned New England chaise, but as heavy and uncouth as wood and trappings could make it. The machine was drawn by three mules abreast, attached to it by plaited ropes. All the preparations having been completed, we started under whip and spur, Jehu-like, rattling over the rocks, to the no small hazard of bones and baggage. Fortunately, this speed did not continue long. The road, for two miles, was overflowed; and the Indian guide was necessarily compelled to direct his team with a greater degree of circumspection.