84 
GUATEMALA. 
Here let me speak of the atrocious coffee that we 
found in this place and elsewhere as we went on. The 
berry, which is of fine quality, is burned, not roasted, 
and when pulverized, boiled for hours, and then bottled. 
This nasty mess they call esencia de cafe , and mix it 
with boiling water at the table. It was generally served 
to us in patent-medicine bottles, with a corn-cob or a roll 
of paper for a stopper. It had not the slightest taste of 
coffee, but reminded one of the smell of a newly-printed 
newspaper. 
We were on our way next morning at half-past five, 
and found the road much washed by the severe rains of 
the night before. On our right, across the valley, was 
a fine cascade spattering over the limestone rocks, and 
now we came for the first time to home-like pine-trees. 
Begonias of two species grew in the clefts of the road¬ 
side rocks, and in a house-yard was a fine Euphorbia 
Eoinsettii. As my horse had hurt his foot at Teleman, 
I walked much of the way, so our progress up the hills 
was not very rapid; and we were by no means expecting 
it when a turn in the road between two hills brought us 
abruptly into San Miguel Tucuru. 
This interesting town, of some three hundred inhabit¬ 
ants, had no posada; but we found a capital casa de 
hospedaje , kept by a sen ora of African descent married 
to an invisible ladino. The house was of fair size, built 
of adobe, and well plastered. A black Saint Benedict hung 
in effigy on the wall, — the forerunner of a host of black 
saints and holy people whom we saw both in sculpture 
and painting as we advanced through this ancient do¬ 
main of the Spanish missionaries. Our senora had a 
calentura , — the national excuse for not doing anything 
