A DON QUIXOTE. 



141 



ing out like a pump-handle, the hand dropping from the 

 wrist, and shaking with the movement of the mule. 

 He rode on a Mexican saddle plated with silver, and 

 carried behind a pair of alforgas with bread and cheese, 

 and atole, a composition of pounded parched corn, 

 cocoa, and sugar, which, mixed with water, was al- 

 most his living. His mozo was as fat as he was 

 lean, and wore a bell-crowned straw hat, cotton shirt, 

 and drawers reaching down to his knees. Excepting 

 that instead of Rosinante and the ass the master rode a 

 mule and the servant went afoot, they were a genuine 

 Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, the former of which 

 appellations, very early in our acquaintance, we gave 

 to Don Saturnino. 



We set out for Quezaltenango, but intended to turn 

 aside and visit ruins, and that day we went three leagues 

 out of our road to say farewell to our friend Padre Al- 

 cantra al Ciudad Vieja. 



At five o'clock in the afternoon we reached the con- 

 vent, where I had the pleasure of meeting again Padre 

 Alcantra, Senor Vidaury, and Don Pepe, the same 

 party with whom I had passed the day with so much 

 satisfaction before. Mr. Catherwood had in the mean 

 time passed a month at the convent. Padre Alcantra 

 had fled at the approach of the tyrant Morazan ; Don 

 Pepe had had a shot at him as he was retreating from 

 the Antigua, and the padre had a musket left at night 

 by a flying soldier against the wall of the convent. 



The morning opened with troubles. The gray mule 

 was sick. Don Saturnino bled her on both sides of her 

 neck, but the poor animal was not in a condition to be 

 ridden. Shortly afterward Mr. Catherwood had one of 

 the mozos by the throat, but Padre Alcantra patched up 

 a peace. Don Saturnino said that the gray mule would 



