_Wednesday, August 23rd_.--At six o'clock we assembled all on the
balcony of the hotel to wait for the coach, which arrived shortly
afterwards. There was some little delay and squabbling before we all
found ourselves safely established on the coach, but starting was
quite another matter, for the four white mules resolutely refused to
move, without a vast amount of screaming and shouting and plunging. We
had to pull up once or twice before we got clear of the town, to allow
more passengers to be somehow or other squeezed in, and at each fresh
start similar objections on the part of the mules had to be overcome.
The air felt fresh when we started, but before we had proceeded far we
came into a thick, cold, wet fog, which, after the heat of the last
few weeks, seemed to pierce us to the very marrow. Eight miles farther
on the four frisky white mules were exchanged for five steady
dun-coloured ones, which were in their turn replaced after a
seven-mile stage by four nice bays, who took us along at a tremendous
pace. The sun began by this time to penetrate the mist, and the
surrounding country became visible. We found that we were following
the course of the river, passing through an avenue of coral-trees,
loaded with the most brilliant flowers and fruit imaginable, and full
of parroquets and fluttering birds of many hues.
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