The Indian of the town clock has this moment struck _one_; the stores are closed, and the streets deserted. The whole of the population, excepting a few straggling natives, are in their hammocks. Midnight is on us in pantomime, without its darkness. In fifteen minutes more, all Yucatan, literally, may be said to be asleep—even my José now is looking at me with a drowsy eye, and wondering, no doubt, why I do not follow the example. The climate is really enervating, and I have determined to swing a while, if it be only to learn not to condemn the habits of others. On the following morning we left Isamal, stopping occasionally upon the road-side, to examine the sonatos which lay in our route. These are large wells, which apparently have been formed by convulsions of Nature, in the midst of silicious and calcareous rocks. They contain a never failing supply of good water, and are a rendezvous of Indians, and halting-places for the muleteers, who usually are found taking their refreshments there. The calabash of Maza was always tendered to us with unrestrained hospitality, and we were almost uniformly asked to partake of their other provisions. Sharing the food of these humble wayfarers is an unfailing guarantee of their good-will, and to decline, if not construed as an offence, would certainly wound their sensibility. I frequently had occasion to observe the tact that José possessed of making himself agreeable to those we met upon the road, and was often reminded of my good fortune in having secured his valuable services. Parting from our transient friends, we hurried on in a vain effort to escape a violent shower which threatened us, and which overtook us in time to drench us thoroughly before we got refuge, at noon, in the Casa-real at Tuncax. It is too late for me to expect any credit for remarking the mutability of all human affairs; but I was reminded of the fact to-day with all the force of a new revelation. But this morning I was quartered like a prince, with a palace for a dwelling, and a cacique’s retinue to obey my bidding; and now, there is not an Indian so poor as to do me reverence. The floor of the Casa-real into which fate had cast me was not entirely covered with water. The hammock swung clear of the mud. There evidently had been a roof over head, and my situation would have been positively worse in the streets. Comparatively, then, I was comfortable. The rain too had almost ceased; the Indians were coming in, and the prospects of a dinner were brightening. Across the square stood the church, with its heavy walls blackened with the sun and the rain, with its gabled front, and pigeon-holed apex, and its trio of bells. By its side stood the house of the curate, with its low sides, and high though dilapidated thatched roof. There were some half dozen stores scattered about, and a few stone buildings, no doubt inhabited by the whites; the rest of the town, as usual, is made of Indian huts.