st of all, the stately fan-palms, and date-palms, and bananas;
all glittering with millions of dewdrops, that covered them like a
ganze veil embroidered with diamonds and rubies. And still in the very
next valley all was utter darkness.

We sat silent and motionless, gazing at this scene of enchantment.

Presently the sun rose higher, and a flood of light illumined the
whole valley, which lay some few hundred feet below us--a perfect
garden, such as no northern imagination could picture forth; a garden
of sugar-canes, cotton, and nopal-trees, intermixed with thickets of
pomegranate and strawberry-trees, and groves of orange, fig, and
lemon, giants of their kind, shooting up to a far greater height than
the oak attains in the States--every tree a perfect hothouse, a
pyramid of flowers, covered with bloom and blossom to its topmost
spray. All was light, and freshness, and beauty; every object seemed
to dance and rejoice in the clear elastic golden atmosphere. It was an
earthly paradise, fresh from the hand of its Creator, and at first we
could discover no sign of man or his works. Presently, however, we
discerned the village lying almost at our feet, the small stone houses
overgrown with flowers and embedded in trees; so that scarcely a
square foot of roof or wall was to be seen. Even the church was
concealed in a garland of orange-trees, and had lianas and
star-flowered creepers climbing over and dangling on it, up as high as
the slender cross that surmounted its square white tower. As we gazed,
the first sign of life appeared in the village. A puff of blue smoke
rose curling and spiral from a chimney, and the matin bell rang out
its summons to prayer. Our Mexicans fell on their knees and crossed
themselves, repeating their Ave-marias. We involuntarily took off our
hats, and whispered a thanksgiving to the God who had been with us in
the hour of peril, and was now so visible to us in his works.

The Mexicans rose from their knees.

"_Vamos! Senores,_" said one of them, laying his hand on the bridle of
my mule. "To the _rancho_, to breakfast."

We rode slowly down into the valley.

* * * * *

THE BRITISH FLEET[26].

[26] Memoirs of Admiral Earl St Vincent. By T.S. TUCKER. 2 vols.

Were the question proposed to us, What is the most extraordinary,
complete, and effective instance of skill, contrivance, science, and
power, ever combined by man? we should unhesitatingly ans