152 



A POST-HUT. 



where we could regain the road. After stum- 

 bling and groping about in the dark for another 

 hour, and riding a mile beyond our destination, 

 among bogs and thistles, the barking of dogs 

 informed us that we were near the post-hut ; 

 and thus ended our first day's journey. 



Here we are lodged in what is called the 

 traveller's hut, a miserable mud hovel apart 

 from the rancho of the postmaster and his 

 family, and dedicated to poultry and travellers. 

 For the better accommodation of the former 

 there are numerous holes in the side walls, 

 through which they creep in and out ad libitum. 

 Under the hide catre on which I am writing, 

 and where I slept, a duck is now smiling at me, 

 " like patience," not cc upon a monument," but 

 upon a great nest of eggs. I have got blankets 

 and sheets with me, of the ordinary kind ; but 

 my companion has quite adopted a gaucho 



