atador, with a single vigorous plunge, drives the long blade to the
very hilt, through a bloody sheath, into the tired beast. Again at
_longo intervallo_, a few coins are flung into the circle, to reward the
favored gladiators. All this, with plenty of dust, oceans of orchata,
and a fair show of lovely faces, made up the bull fight.

Later in the evening I attended the kind Padre to the _Comedia_. The
theatre was small, prettily painted, gilded, carved, and particularly
well-stocked with fleas. The audience was highly respectable, and the
female portion still preserved my appreciation of their beauty on the
former visit--there was less youth, but an equal degree of matronly
comeliness. Unlike the saffron-hued damsels generally seen throughout
Mexico, these donas had rounded forms, rosy complexions, and such soft,
languid eyes, and hair so smoothly banded or braided, that I often felt
tempted to pass my hand over the satin tresses of a lovely woman seated
before me.

The play was a most horrible tragedy--all about Moors, Guzmans and
Granada. The actors magnificently dressed, heaving unnecessarily long
respirations at every word--in fact a gasping species of elocution. The
prompter, too, within his covered trap behind the foot-lights, wheezed
like one far gone in the asthma, with a voice louder than the
performers.

The audience puffed paper cigars--men, women and children--until the
smoke became so dense, that nothing was perceptible on the stage, save
alone the shining armor that encased the legs of a Moor.

The curtain fell at midnight; and after an hour passed in a brilliant
cafe, sipping ices and punch, I returned to mine inn.

It was with unfeigned regret I parted with the gentlemen who had been
civil to me at Guadalajara--particularly Senor Llamas and the excellent
Padre--may they abide _muchos anos_--in health and prosperity in their
beautiful city.

On the 7th of June, escorted by my former antique guide, Cypriano, who
quite reminded me of a knight of the dark ages, with lance and pennon,
we got in the saddle, at nine by the evening clock, and pursued our path
through the silent lanes and suburbs of the city. Without the moon to
light our footsteps, we were four weary hours at a snail's pace in
reaching the Porton, or Garita, when, after much parleying from
house-tops and gratings, the lazy, sleepy sentinels were persuaded to
let down the chains, that barred the gateway, and we passed out upon the
main roa