such as we have inspected."

Our geological chat was interrupted by an exclamation from l'Encuerado,
who had just discovered a tree which the Mexicans call "the Tree of St.
Ignatius." Its fruit is of a brown color, with a woody husk, something
like small melons, which, as they hang on the tree, strike against one
another with a sharp sound. L'Encuerado informed Lucien that this fruit
is in the habit of bursting suddenly with a loud explosion, and that the
flat beans which they contain are much used as medicine.

[Illustration]

Sumichrast led the way through the forest, where we were sheltered under
the tall trees. After a somewhat long ramble, during which we met with
nothing but magpies, I requested l'Encuerado to guide us back to our
bivouac. All of a sudden my friend enjoined silence; an opossum,
followed by five young ones, was coming near us on our left. The animal
indolently approached a tree of middling size, which it climbed, aided
by its prehensile tail. Its progeny crowded busily round the foot of the
tree, uttering plaintive cries. The opossum then came down again, and
scarcely had it put foot to the ground before its disconsolate family
rushed pell-mell into the maternal pouch. Thus loaded, the animal
climbed the tree more slowly, and sat herself quietly on one of the
lowest branches. We could see nothing but the pointed muzzles and black
eyes of the little ones, which seemed as if they were looking down from
the top of a balcony. One of them at last ventured to emerge, and
crawled along the branches; soon the whole litter followed this example.
Sumichrast advised Lucien to clap his hands, and I ordered l'Encuerado
not to fire at the poor animal. Frightened at the noise, the little ones
hastened to their mother, who set up her thin ears and showed us a
double row of white teeth. One of the stupid little things, in its haste
to reach its asylum, fell down from the tree. In a moment the opossum
had jumped down close to it, and turned towards us her threatening jaws;
then, finding all her treasure complete, she disappeared among the
brush-wood.

"Why didn't you let me shoot at the _tlacuache_?" asked l'Encuerado.

"What is the good of killing a poor creature which would be of no use to
us?"

"You know well enough," replied the Indian, "that this 'poor beast'
finds its way into granaries; that it devours the corn and also fowls,
without reckoning the damage made by them in other ways."

"Yes, that's tr