From Chunhuhub to Merida is about fifty-seven Spanish leagues, and may be said to be entirely thro’ the woods, tho’ not so thick and lofty as the wilderness; and frequently as you approach the capital, opens to plantations; the path very serpentine, scarce ever seeing two hundred yards before you; the soil a reddish clay; very rocky; and the country low, level, and badly water’d, not crossing one river in a journey of ninety-one leagues from Baccalar to Merida. There is in every town a public well sunk with much difficulty, thro’ a strata of hard rock, some of these are very deep; the water is in general hard, tho’ not unpalatable. The people are healthy, and, as they say, remarkable for their longevity. From the wood to Merida you pass fourteen Indian towns; in every one of which is a kind of church, or place of worship; tho’ one priest often officiates for three of these villages; riding from one to the other, having half way houses, or sheds, built for them by the poor Indians to secure them from rain; they appear to be superlatively ignorant, by what I could discover, thro’ the inconvenience of an interpreter; of course can but ill impart with their small stock of knowledge to their flock, who they keep in the most obscure ignorance, and abject servility, shewing both by their adoration of such divines. They, however, behaved very polite and civil towards me, always waiting at the king’s house to receive me; even when I have come in late at night, have invited me to come to sup with them, offer’d me lodging in their houses, complimented me with then best mule to proceed on my journey, and often a nosegay from the bosom of our virgin mother, not without hinting for a little present to the church; and some English rum for their poor congregation.