There was hoar frost on the ground, and the feeling of cold was intense at first; but the sun began to warm the ground about eight o'clock, and we were soon glad to fasten our great coats and shawls to our saddles.

Three leagues took us to the town of Atotonilco[9] el Grande, which gives its name to the plateau we were crossing.

Here we are no longer in the valley of Mexico, which is separated from this plain by the mountains of the Real del Monte.

We rode on two leagues more to the village of Soquital[10] where, it being Sunday, we found the inhabitants--mostly Indians--amusing themselves by standing in the sun, doing nothing.

I can hardly say "doing nothing," though, for we went into the tienda, or shop, and found a brisk trade going on in raw spirits.