Six Months in Mexico. (2024)

race, ethnicity

NEW YORK
AMERICAN PUBLISHERS CORPORATION
310-318 SIXTH AVENUE

TO
GEORGE A. MADDEN,
MANAGING EDITOR
OF THE
PITTSBURG DISPATCH,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF HIS NEVER-FAILING KINDNESS.

JAN.1st, 1888.

CONTENTS.
[Created for the convenience of the online reader.]

SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO.

BY NELLIE BLY.

CHAPTER I.

ADIEU TO THE UNITED STATES.

ONE wintry night I bade my few journalistic friendsadieu, and, accompanied by my mother, started on myway to Mexico. Only a few months previous I had become a newspaper woman. I was too impatient to workalong at the usual duties assigned women on newspapers,so I conceived the idea of going away as a correspondent.

Three days after leaving Pittsburgh we awoke onemorning to find ourselves in the lap of summer. For amoment it seemed a dream. When the porter had madeup our bunks the evening previous, the surroundingcountry had been covered with a snowy blanket. Whenwe awoke the trees were in leaf and the balmy breezemocked our wraps.

Three days, from dawn until dark, we sat at the endof the car inhaling the perfume of the flowers and enjoying the glorious Western sights so rich in originality.For the first time I saw women plowing while their lordsand masters sat on a fence smoking. I never longed foranything so much as I did to shove those lazy fellowsoff.

After we got further south they had no fences. I wasglad of it, because they do not look well ornamented withlazy men.

The land was so beautiful. We gazed in wonder onthe cotton-fields, which looked, when moved by thebreezes, like huge, foaming breakers in their mad rushfor the shore. And the cowboys! I shall never forgetthe first real, live cowboy I saw on the plains. The trainwas moving at a "putting-in-time" pace, as we came upto two horsem*n. They wore immense sombreros, hugespurs, and had lassos hanging to the side of their saddles. I knew they were cowboys, so, jerking off a redscarf I waved it to them.

I was not quite sure how they would respond. Fromthe thrilling and wicked stories I had read, I fanciedthey might begin shooting at me as quickly as anythingelse. However, I was surprised and delighted to seethem lift their sombreros, in a manner not excelled by aNew York exquisite, and urge their horses into a madrun after us.

Such a ride! The feet of the horses never seemed totouch the ground. By this time nearly all the passengers were watching the race between horse and steam.At last we gradually left them behind. I waved myscarf sadly in farewell, and they responded with theirsombreros. I never felt as much reluctance for leavinga man behind as I did to leave those cowboys.

The people at the different stopping-places looked atus with as much enjoyment as we gazed on them. Theywere not in the least backward about asking questions ormaking remarks. One woman came up to me with asmile, and said:

"Good-mornin', missis; and why are you sittin' outthar, when thar is such a nice cabin to be in?"

She could not understand how I could prefer seeingthe country to sitting in a Pullman.

I had imagined that the West was a land of beef andcream; I soon learned my mistake, much to my dismay.It was almost an impossibility to get aught else than saltmeat, and cream was like the stars – out of reach.

It was with regret we learned just before retiring onthe evening of our third day out from St. Louis, thatmorning would find us in El Paso. I cannot say whathour it was when the porter called us to dress, that thetrain would soon reach its destination. How I did wishI had remained at home, as I rubbed my eyes and triedto dress on my knees in the berth.

"It's so dark," said my mother, as she parted the curtains. "What shall we do when we arrive?"

"Well, I'm glad it's dark, because I won't have to button my boots or comb my hair," I replied, laughing tocheer her up.

I did not feel as cheerful as I talked when we left thetrain. It had been our home for three days, and now wewere cast forth in a strange city in the dark. The trainemployes were running about with their lanterns ontheir arms, but no one paid any attention to the drowsypassengers.

There were no cabs or cabmen, or even wheelbarrowsaround, and the darkness prevented us from getting aview of our surroundings.

"This has taught me a lesson. I shall fall into thearms of the first man who mentions marry to me," I saidto my mother as we wended our way through freight andbaggage to the waiting-room, "then I will have someone to look after me."

She looked at me with a little doubting smile, andgave my arm a reassuring pressure.

I shall never forget the sight of that waiting-room.Men, women, and children, dogs and baggage, in onepromiscuous mass. The dim light of an oil-lamp fell withdreary effect on the scene. Some were sleeping, lost forawhile to all the cares of life; some were eating; somewere smoking, and a group of men were passing arounda bottle occasionally as they dealt out a greasy pack ofcards.

It was evident that we could not wait the glimpse ofdawn 'mid these surroundings. With my mother's armstill tightly clasped in mine, we again sought the outerdarkness. I saw a man with a lantern on his arm, andwent to him and asked directions to a hotel. He repliedthat they were all closed at this hour, but if I could besatisfied with a second-class house, he would conduct usto where he lived. We were only too glad for any shelter, so without one thought of where he might take us,we followed the light of his lantern as he went ahead.

It was only a short walk through the sandy streets tothe place. There was one room unoccupied, and wegladly paid for it, and by the aid of a tallow candle foundour way to bed.

CHAPTER II.

EL PASO DEL NORTE.

"MY dear child, do you feel rested enough?" I heardmy mother ask.

"Are you up already?" I asked, turning on my side, tosee her as she sat, dressed, by the open window, throughwhich came a lazy, southern breeze.

"This hour," she replied, smiling at me; "you sleptso well, I did not want to rouse you, but the morning isperfect and I want you to share its beauties with me."

The remembrance of our midnight arrival faded like abad nightmare, and I was soon happy that I was there;only at mealtime did I long for home.

We learned that the first train we could get for Mexicowould be about six o'clock in the afternoon, so we decided "to do" the town in the meanwhile.

El Paso, which is Spanish for "The Pass," is rathera lively town. It has been foretold that it will be a secondDenver, so rapid is its growth. A number of differentrailway lines center here, and the hotels are filled theyear round with health and pleasure seekers of all descriptions. While pit is always warm, yet its climate is so perfect that it benefits almost any sufferer. The hotels arequite modern, both in finish and price, and the hackdrivers on a par with those in the East.

The prices for everything are something dreadful tocontemplate. The houses are mostly modern, with hereand there the adobe huts which once marked this border.The courthouse and jail combined is a fine brick structure that any large city might boast of. Several very prettylittle gardens brighten up the town with their green, velvety grasses and tropical plants and trees. The only objection I found to El Paso was its utter lack of grass.

The people of position are mainly those who are therefor their health, or to enjoy the winter in the balmy climate, or the families of men who own ranches in Texas.The chief pleasure is driving and riding, and the displayduring the driving hour would put to shame many Eastern cities. The citizens are perfectly free. They speakand do and think as they please.

In our walks around we had many proffer us informa-tion, and even ask permission to escort us to points ofinterest.

A woman offered to show us a place where we couldget good food, and when she learned that we were leavingthat evening for the City of Mexico, she urged us to geta basket of food. She said no eating-cars were run onthat trip, and the eating gotten along the way would beworse than Americans could endure. We afterward feltthankful that we followed her advice.

El Paso, the American town, and El Paso del Norte(the pass to the north), the Mexican town, are separated,as New York from Brooklyn, as Pittsburgh from Allegheny. The Rio Grande, running swiftly between itslow banks, its waves muddy and angry, or sometimes solow and still that one would think it had fallen asleepfrom too long duty, divides the two towns.

Communication is open between them by a ferryboat,which will carry you across for two and one half cents, byhack, buggies, and saddle horses, by the Mexican CentralRailway, which transports its passengers from one townto the other, and a street-car line, the only internationalstreet-car line in the world, for which it has to thankTexas capitalists.

It is not possible to find a greater contrast than thesetwo cities form, side by side. El Paso is a progressive,lively, American town; El Paso del Norte is as far backin the Middle Ages, and as slow as it was when the firstadobe hut was executed in 1680. It is rich with grassand shade trees, while El Paso is as spare of grass as atwenty-year old youth is of beard.

On that side they raise the finest grapes and sell themost exquisite wine that ever passed mortals' lips. Onthis side they raise vegetables and smuggle the wine over.The tobacco is pronounced unequaled, and the Americanpockets will carry a good deal every trip, but the Mexican is just as smart in paying visits and carrying backwhat can be only gotten at double the price on his side;but the Mexican custom-house officials are the least exacting in the world, and contrast as markedly with theUnited States' officials as the two towns do one to theother.

One of the special attractions of El Paso del Norte(barring the tobacco and wine) is a queer old stonechurch, which is said to be nearly 300 years old. It islow and dark and filled with peculiar paintings and funnily dressed images.

The old town seems to look with proud contempt oncivilization and progress, and the little padre preachesagainst free schools and tells his poor, ignorant followersto beware of the hurry and worry of the Americans – tolive as their grand- and great-grandfathers did. So, inobedience they keep on praying and attending mass,sleeping, smoking their cigarettes and eating frijoles(beans), lazily wondering why Americans cannot learntheir wise way of enjoying life.

One can hardly believe that Americanism is separatedfrom them only by a stream. If they were thousands ofmiles apart they could not be more unlike. There smallpox holds undisputed sway in the dirty streets, and, inthe name of religion, vaccination is denounced; thereMexican convict-soldiers are flogged until the American'sheart burns to wipe out the whole colony; there fiestesand Sundays are celebrated by the most inhuman co*ck-fights and bull-fights, and monte games of all descriptions. The bull-fights celebrated on the border are themost inhuman I have seen in all of Mexico. The hornsof the toros (bulls) are sawed off so that they are sensitiveand can make but little attempt at defense, which is attended with extreme pain. They are tortured until,sinking from pain and fatigue, they are dispatched bythe butcher.

El Paso del Norte boasts of a real Mexican prison. Itis a long, one-storied adobe building, situated quitehandy to the main plaza, and within hearing of themerry-making of the town. There are no cells, but afew adobe rooms and a long court, where the prisonerstalk together and with the guards, and count the time asit laggingly slips away. They very often play cards andsmoke cigarettes. Around this prison is a line of soldiers. It is utterly impossible to cross it without detection.

Mexican keepers are not at all particular that theprisoners are fed everyday. An American, at the handsof the Mexican authorities, suffers all the tortures thatsome preachers delight to tell us some human beingswill find in the world to come.

Fire and brimstone! It is nothing to the torments ofan American prisoner in a Mexican jail. Two meals,not enough to sustain life in a sick cat, must suffice himfor an entire week. There are no beds, and not evenwater. Prisoners also have the not very comfortableknowledge that, if they get too troublesome, the keepers have a nasty habit of making them stand up and beshot in the back. The reports made out in these casesare "shot while trying to escape."

In the afternoon I exchanged my money for Mexicancoin, getting a premium of twelve cents on every dollar.I had a lunch prepared, and as the shades of night beganto envelop the town, we boarded the train for Mexico.After we crossed the Rio Grande our baggage was examined by the custom-house officers while we ate supperat a restaurant which, strangely enough, was run byChinamen. This gave us a foretaste of Mexican foodand price.

It was totally dark when we entered the car again, andwe were quite ready to retire. There were but two otherpassengers in the car with us. One was a Mexican andthe other a young man from Chicago.

We soon bade them good-night, and retired to ourberths to sleep while the train bore us swiftly throughthe darkness to our destination.

CHAPTER III.

ALONG THE ROUTE.

"THIRTY minutes to dress for breakfast," was ourgood-morning in Mexico. We had fallen asleep the nightprevious as easily as a babe in its crib, with an eager anticipation of the morrow. Almost before the Pullmanporter had ceased his calling, our window shades werehoisted and we were trying to see all of Mexico at oneglance.

That glance brought disappointment. The land, almost as far as the eye could carry, which is a wonderfuldistance in the clear atmosphere of Mexico, was perfectlylevel. Barring the cacti, with which the country abounds,the ground was bare.

"And this is sunny Mexico, the land of the gods!" Iexclaimed, in disgust.

By the time we had completed our toilet the trainstopped, and we were told to get off if we wanted anybreakfast. We followed our porter to a side track where,in an old freight car, was breakfast. We climbed up thehigh steps, paying our dollar as we entered, and found forourselves places at the long table. It was surrounded byhungry people intent only on helping themselves. Everything was on the table, even to the coffee.

I made an effort to eat. It was impossible. My mothersucceeded no better.

"Are you not glad we brought a lunch?" she asked, asher eyes met mine.

We went back to the car and managed to make a tolerable breakfast on the cold chicken and other eatables wefound in our basket.

But the weather! It was simply perfect, and we soonforgot little annoyances in our enjoyment of it. We gotcamp chairs, and from morning until night we occupiedthe rear platform.

As we got further South the land grew more interesting. We gazed in wonder at the groves of cacti whichraised their heads many feet in the air, and topped themoff with one of the most exquisite blossoms I have everseen.

At every station we obtained views of the Mexicans.As the train drew in, the natives, of whom the majoritystill retain the fashion of Adam, minus fig leaves, wouldrush up and gaze on the travelers in breathless wonder,and continue to look after the train as if it was the oneevent of their lives.

As we came to larger towns we could see armed horsem*n riding at a 2:09 speed, leaving a cloud of dust intheir wake, to the stations. When the train stoppedthey formed in a decorous line before it, and so remaineduntil the train started again on its journey. I learnedthat they were a government guard. They do this so, ifthere is any trouble on the train or any raised at the station during their stop, they could quell it.

Hucksters and beggars constitute most of the crowdthat welcomes the train. From the former we boughtflowers, native fruit, eggs, goat milk, and strange Mexican food. The pear cacti, which is nursed in greenhouses in the States, grows wild on the plains to a heightof twenty feet, and its great green lobes, or leaves, coveredthickly with thorns, are frequently three feet in diameter.Some kinds bear a blood-red fruit, and others yellow.When gathered they are in a thorny shell. The MexicanIndians gather them and peel them and sell them to travelers for six cents a dozen. It is called "tuna," and isconsidered very healthy. It has a very cool and pleasingtaste.

From this century-plant, or cacti, the Mexicans maketheir beer, which they call pulque (pronounced polke).It is also used by the natives to fence in their mud houses,and forms a most picturesque and impassable surrounding.

The Indians seem cleanly enough, despite all that'sbeen said to the contrary. Along the gutters by the railroad, they could be seen washing their few bits of wearing apparel, and bathing. Many of their homes are butholes in the ground, with a straw roof. The smoke creepsout from the doorway all day, and at night the familysleep in the ashes. They seldom lie down, but sleepsitting up like a tailor, strange to say, but they nevernod nor fall over.

The whirlwinds, or sand spouts, form very pretty pictures on the barren plain. They run to the height of onethousand feet, and travel along the road at a 2:04 gait,going up the mountain side as majestic as a queen. Butthen their race is run, for the moment they begin to descend their spell is broken, and they fall to earth againto become only common sand, and be trod by the bare,brown feet of the Indian, and the dainty hoofs of theburro.

Some one told me that when a man sees a sand spoutadvancing, and he does not want to be cornered by it, heshoots into it and it immediately falls. I can't say howtrue it is, but it seems very probable.

We had not many passengers, but what we had, excepting my mother and myself, were all men. They allcarried lunch-baskets. Among them was one youngMexican gentleman who had spent several years inEurope, where he had studied the English language.He was very attentive to us, and taught me a good dealof Spanish. He had been away long enough to learnthat the Mexicans had very strange ideas, and he quiteenjoyed telling incidents about them.

"When the Mexican Railway was being built," he said,"wheelbarrows were imported for the native laborers.They had never seen the like before, so they filled themwith earth, and, putting them on their backs, walked offto the place of deposit. It was a long time before theycould be made to understand how to use them, and eventhen, as the Mexicans are very weak in the arms, littlework could be accomplished with them.

"You would hardly believe it," he continued, "but atfirst the trains were regarded as the devil and the passengers as his workers. Once a settlement of natives decided to overpower the devil. They took one of theirmost sacred and powerful saints and placed it in the center of the track. On their knees, with great faith, theywatched the advance of the train, feeling sure the saintwould cause it to stop forever in its endless course. Theengineer, who had not much reverence for that particularsaint or saints in general, struck it with full force. Thatsaint's reign was ended. Since then they are allowed toremain in their accustomed nooks in the churches, whilethe natives still have the same faith in their powers, butare not anxious to test them."

"Come, I want you to see the strangest mountain inthe world," interrupted the conductor at this moment.

We followed him to the rear platform and there lookedcuriously at the mountain he pointed out. It rose, clearand alone, from the barren plains, like a nose on one'sface. It seemed to be of brown earth, but it containednot the least sign of vegetation. It looked as high asthe Brooklyn bridge from the water to top, and wasabout the same length, in an oblong shape. It was perfectly straight across the top.

"When this railroad was being built," he explained,"I went with a party of engineers in search of something new. Through curiosity alone, to get a good viewof the land, we decided to climb that strange lookingmountain. From here you cannot see the vegetation,but it is covered with a low, brown shrub. Can you imagine our surprise when we got to the top to find it wasa mammoth basin? Yes, that hill holds in it the mostbeautiful lake I ever saw."

"That seems most wonderful!" I exclaimed, ratherdubiously.

"It is not more wonderful than thousands of otherplaces in Mexico," he replied. "In the State of Chihuahua 1 is a Laguna, in which the water is as clear as crystal. When the Americans who were superintending thework on the railway found it, they decided to have anice bath. It had been many days since they had seenany more water than would quench their thirst – in coffee, of course. Accordingly, some dozen or more doffedtheir clothing and went in. Their pleasure was short-lived, for their bodies began to burn and smart, and theycame out looking like scalding pigs. The water isstrongly alkaline; the fish in the lake are said to be white,even to their eyes; they are unfit to eat."

I give his stories for what they are worth; I did not investigate to prove their truth.

"We do not think much of the people who come hereto write us up," the conductor said one day, "for theynever tell the truth. One woman who came down hereto make herself famous pressed me one day for a story.I told her that out in the country the natives roastedwhole hogs, heads and all, without cleaning, and soserved them on the table. She jotted it down as a rareitem."

"If you tell strangers untruths about your own landcan you complain, then, that the same strangers misrepresent it?" asked my little mother, quietly.

The conductor flushed, and said he had not thought ofit in that light before.

While yet a day's travel distant from the city ofMexico, tomatoes and strawberries were procurable. Itwas January. The venders were quite up to the tricksof the hucksters in the States. In a small basket theyplace cabbage leaves and two or three pebbles to giveweight; then the top is covered with strawberries sodeftly that even the smartest purchaser thinks he is getting a bargain for twenty-five cents.

At larger towns a change for the better was noticeablein the clothing of the people. The most fashionabledress for the Mexican Indian was white muslin panteloons,twice as wide as those worn by the dudes last summer;a serape, as often cotton as wool, wrapped around theshoulders; a straw sombrero, and sometimes leather sandals bound to the feet with leather cords.

The women wear loose sleeveless waists with a straightpiece of cloth pinned around them for skirts, and thehabitual rebozo wrapped about the head and holding theequally habitual baby. No difference how cold or warmthe day, nor how scant the lower garments, the serapeand rebozo are never laid aside, and none seem too poorto own one. Apparently the natives do not believe muchin standing, for the moment they stop walking they"hunker" down on the ground.

Never once during the three days did we think of getting tired, and it was with a little regret mingled with adesire to see more, that we knew when we awoke in themorning we would be in the City of Mexico.

CHAPTER IV.

THE CITY OF MEXICO.

"THE City of Mexico," they had called. We got off,but we saw no city. We soon learned that the train didnot go further, and that we would have to take a carriage to convey us the rest of the way.

Carriages lined the entrance to the station, and thecab-men were, apparently from their actions, just likethose of the States. When they procure a permit for acarriage in Mexico, it is graded and marked. A first-class carriage carries a white flag, a second-class a blueflag, and a third-class a red flag. The prices are respectively, per hour: one dollar, seventy-five cents, and fiftycents. This is meant for a protection to travelers, butthe drivers are very cunning. Often at night they willremove the flag and charge double prices, but they canbe punished for it.

We soon arrived at the Hotel Yturbide, and were assigned rooms by the affable clerk. The hotel was oncethe home of the Emperor Yturbide. It is a large building of the Mexican style. The entrance takes one into alarge, open court or square. All the rooms are arrangedaround this court, opening out into a circle of balconies.

The lowest floor in Mexico is the cheapest. The higherup one goes the higher they find the price. The reasonof this is that at the top one escapes any possible dampness, and can get the light and sun.

Our room had a red brick floor. It was large, but hadno ventilation except the glass doors which opened ontothe balcony. There was a little iron cot in each cornerof the room, a table, washstand, and wardrobe.

It all looked so miserable – like a prisoner's cell – thatI began to wish I was at home.

At dinner we had quite a time trying to understandthe waiter and to make him understand us. The foodwe thought wretched, and, as our lunch basket was longsince emptied, we felt a longing for some United Stateseatables.

I found we could not learn much about Mexican life byliving at the hotels, so the first thing was to find someone who could speak English, and through them obtainboarding in a private family. It was rather difficult, butI succeeded, and I was glad to exchange quarters.

The City of Mexico makes many bright promises forthe future. As a winter resort, as a summer resort, acity for men to accumulate fortunes; a paradise for students, for artists; a rich field for the hunter of the curious, the beautiful, and the rare. Its bright future cannotbe far distant.

Already its wonders are related to the enterprizing people of other climes, who are making prospective toursthrough the land that held cities even at the time of thediscovery of America.

Mexico looks the same all over; every white street terminates at the foot of a snow-capped mountain, lookwhich way you will. The streets are named very strangelyand prove quite a torment to strangers. Every block orsquare is named separately.

The most prominent street is the easiest to remember,and even it is peculiar. It is called the street of SanFrancisco, and the first block is designated as first SanFrancisco, the second as second San Francisco, and so onthe entire street.

One continually sees poverty and wealth side by side inMexico, and they don't turn up their noses at each othereither; the half-clad Indian has as much room on theFifth Avenue of Mexico as the millionaire's wife – notbut what that land, as this, bows to wealth.

Policemen occupy the center of the street at every termination of a block, reminding one, as they look downthe streets, of so many posts. They wear white caps withnumbers on, blue suits, and nickel buttons. A macenow takes the place of the sword of former days. Atnight they don an overcoat and hood, which makes themlook just like the pictures of veiled knights. Red lanterns are left in the street where the policemen stoodduring the daytime, while they retire to some doorwaywhere, it is said, they sleep as soundly as their brethrenin the States.

Every hour they blow a whistle like those used bystreet car drivers, which is answered by those on the nextposts. Thus they know all is well. In small towns theycall out the time of night, ending up with tiempo serono(all serene), from which the Mexican youth, with somemischievous Yankeeism, have named them Seronos.

CHAPTER V.

IN THE STREETS OF MEXICO.

IN Mexico, as in all other countries, the average tourist rushes to the cathedrals and places of historic note,wholly unmindful of the most intensely interestingfeature the country contains – the people.

Street scenes in the City of Mexico form a brilliant andentertaining panorama, for which no charge is made.Even photographers slight this wonderful picture. Ifyou ask for Mexican scenes they show you cathedrals,saints, cities and mountains, but never the wonderfulthings that are right under their eyes daily. Likewise,journalists describe this cathedral, tell you the age ofthat one, paint you the beauties of another, but the people, the living, moving masses that go so far towardmaking the population of Mexico, are passed by withscarce a mention.

It is not a clean, inviting crowd, with blue eyes andsunny hair I would take you among, but a short, heavy-set people, with almost black skins, topped off with theblackest eyes and masses of raven hair. Their lives areas dark as their skins and hair, and are invaded by nohope that through effort their lives may amount to something.

Nine women out of ten in Mexico have babies. Whenat a very tender age, so young as five days, the babies arecompletely hidden in the folds of the rebozo and strungto the mother's back, in close proximity to the mammothbaskets of vegetables on her head and supended on eitherside of the human freight. When the babies get oldertheir heads and feet appear, and soon they give theirplace to another or share their quarters, as it is no unusual sight to see a woman carry three babies at one timein her rebozo. They arealways good. Their littlecoal-black eyes gaze out onwhat is to be their world,in solemn wonder. Nobaby smiles or babyishtears are ever seen on theirfaces. At the earliest datethey are old, and appearto view life just as it is tothem in all its blackness.They know no home, theyhave no school, and beforethey are able to talk theyare taught to carry bundles on their heads orbacks, or pack a youngermember of the familywhile the mother carriesmerchandise, by whichshe gains a living. Theirliving is scarcely worthsuch a title. They merely exist. Thousands ofthem are born and raisedon the streets. They have no home and were never in abed. Going along the streets of the city late at night, youwill find dark groups huddled in the shadows, which, oninvestigation, will turn out to be whole families goneto bed. They never lie down, but sit with their headson their knees, and so pass the night.

When they get hungry they seek the warm side of thestreet and there, hunkering down, devour what theyscraped up during the day, consisting of refused meatsand offal boiled over a handful of charcoal. A freshtortilla is the sweetest of sweetbreads. The men appearvery kind and are frequently to be seen with the littleones tied up in their serape.

Groups of these at dinner would furnish rare studiesfor Rodgers. Several men and women will be walkingalong, when suddenly they will sitdown in some sunny spot on thestreet. The women will bring fishor a lot of stuff out of a basket orpoke, which is to constitute theircoming meal. Meanwhile themen, who also sit flat on the street,will be looking on and acceptingtheir portion like hungry, butwell-bred, dogs.

This type of life, be it understood, is the lowest in Mexico,and connects in no way with theupper classes. The Mexicans arecertainly misrepresented, mostwrongfully so. They are not lazy,but just the opposite. Fromearly dawn until late at night theycan be seen filling their differentoccupations. The women sellpapers and lottery tickets.

"See here, child," said a gray-haired lottery woman inSpanish. "Buy a ticket. A sure chance to get $10,000for twenty-five cents." Being told that we had no faithin lotteries, she replied: "Buy one; the Blessed Virginwill bring you the money."

The laundry women, who, by the way, wash clotheswhiter and iron them smoother even than the Chinese,carry the clothes home unwrapped. That is, they carrytheir hands high above their head, from which streamwhite skirts, laces, etc., furnishing a most novel andinteresting sight.

"The saddest thing I ever saw," said Mr. Theo. Gestefeld, "among all the sad things in Mexico, was an incident that happened when I first arrived here. Noticinga policeman talking to a boy around whom a crowd ofdusky citizens had gathered, I, true to journalistic instinct, went up to investigate. The boy, I found, belonged to one of the many families who do odd jobs inday time for a little food, and sleep at night in some darkcorner. Strung to the boy's back was a dying baby. Itslittle eyes were half closed in death. The crowd watched,in breathless fascination, its last slow gasps. The boyhad no home to go to, he knew not where to find his parents at that hour of the day, and there he stood, whilethe babe died in its cradle, his serape. In my newspaper career I have witnessed many sad scenes, but Inever saw anything so heartrending as the death of thatlittle innocent."

Tortillas is not only one of the great Mexican dishesbut one of the women's chief industries. In almost anystreet there can be seen women on their knees mashingcorn between smooth stones, making it into a batter, andfinally shaping it into round, flat cakes. They spit ontheir hands to keep the dough from sticking, and bakein a pan of hot grease, kept boiling by a few lumps ofcharcoal. Rich and poor buy and eat them, apparentlyunmindful of the way they are made. But it is a breadthat Americans must be educated to. Many surprise theMexicans by refusing even a taste after they see the bakers.

There are some really beautiful girls among this lowclass of people. Hair three quarters the length of thewomen, and of wonderful thickness, is common. It isoften worn loose, but more frequently in two long plaits.Wigmakers find no employment here. The men wearlong, heavy bangs.

There is but one thing that poor and rich indulge inwith equal delight and pleasure – that is cigarette smoking. Those tottering with age down to the creeping babeare continually smoking. No spot in Mexico is sacredfrom them; in churches, on the railway cars, on thestreets, in the theaters – everywhere are to be seen menand women – of the elite – smoking.

The Mexicans make unsurpassed servants. Theirthievery, which is a historic complaint, must be confinedto those in the suburbs, for those in houses could not bemore honest. There cleanliness is something overwhelming, when one recalls the tales that have been told of thefilth of the "greasers." Early in the mornings thestreets, walks in the plaza, and pavements are swept asclean as anything can be, and that with brooms not asgood as those children play with in the States. Put anAmerican domestic and a Mexican servant together,even with the difference in the working implements, andthe American will "get left" every time. But thiscleanliness may be confined somewhat to such work assweeping and scrubbing; it does not certainly exist inthe preparation offood. Pulque, whichis sucked from themother plant into aman's mouth andthence ejected into awater-jar, is broughtto town in pig-skins.The skins are filled,and then tied ontoburros, or sometimes – not frequently – carried in wagons, thefilled skin rolling fromside to side. Neverless than four filled skins are ever loaded onto a burro;oftener eight and ten. The burros are never harnessed,but go along in trains which often number fifty. Mexican politeness extends even among the lowest classes. Inall their dealings they are as polite as a dancing master.The moment one is addressed off comes his poor, old,ragged hat, and bare-headed he stands until you leavehim. They are not only polite to other people, butamong themselves. One poor, ragged woman was tryingto sell a broken knife and rusty lock at a pawnbroker'sstand. "Will you buy?" she asked, plaintively. "No,senora, gracias" (I thank you), was the polite reply.

The police are not to be excelled. When necessary toclear a hall of an immense crowd, not a rough word isspoken. It is not: "Get out of this, now;" "Get out ofhere," and rough and tumble, push and rush, as it is inthe States among the civilized people. With raised capand low voice the officer gently says in Spanish: "Gentlemen, it is not my will, but it is time to close the door.Ladies, allow me the honor to accompany you toward thedoor." In a very few moments the hall is empty, without noise, without trouble, just with a few polite words,among people who cannot read, who wear knives in theirboots – if they have any – and carry immense revolversstrung to their belts; people who have been trained toenjoy the sight of blood, to be bloodthirsty. What amarked contrast to the educated, cultured inhabitants ofthe States.

Beneath all this ignorance there is a heart, as sympathetic, in its way, as that of any educated man. It is nounusual sight to see a man walk along with a coffin onhis head, from which is visible the remains of some child.In an instant all the men in the gutters, on the walks,or in the doorways, have their hats off, and remain bareheaded until the sad procession is far away. The pallbearer, if such he may be called, dodges in and outamong the carriages, burros and wagons, which fill thestreet. The drivers lift their hats, but the silent bearer – generally the father – moves along unmindful of all.Funeral cars meet with the same respect.

In passing along where a new building was being erected,attention was attracted to the body of a laborer who hadfallen from the building. A white cloth covered all ofthe body except his sandled feet. "The Virgin rest hissoul;" "Virgin Mother grant him grace," were the prayers of his kind as the policeman commanded his body tobe carried away. These little scenes prove they are notbrutes, that they are a little better than some intelligentpeople would have you believe.

The meat express does not, by any means, serve tomake the meat more palatable. Generally an old muleor horse that has reached its second childhood serves forthe express. A long, iron rod, from which hooks project, is fastened on the back of the beast by means ofstraps. The meat is hung on these hooks, where it isexposed to the mud and dirt of the streets as well as thehair of the animal. Men with two large baskets, one infront, one behind, filled with the refuse of meat, follownear by. If they wear trousers they have them rolled uphigh so the blood from the dripping meat will not soilthem, but run down their bare legs and be absorbed inthe sand. It is asserted that the poor do not allow thismixture in the basket to go to waste, but are as glad toget it as we are to get sirloin steak.

Men with cages of fowls, baskets of eggs and bushelsof roots and charcoal, come from the mountain in drovesof from twenty-five to fifty, carrying packs which average three hundred pounds.

One form of politeness here is, that when complimenting or observing anything that belongs to a native, theywill reply: "It is yours." That it means nothing butpoliteness some are slow to learn. "My house is yours;you have but to command me," said the hotel-keeper onthe day of our arrival; but he made no move to vacate.A "greeny" from the States who was working for theMexican Central tested some beer that was on its way tothe city. "That is good beer," he remarked to the express man. "Si, senor! It is yours," was the reply.Mr. Green was elated, and trudged off home with thekeg, much to the consternation and distress of the poorexpress man, who was compelled to pay out of his ownpurse for his politeness.

"You have very handsome coffins," was remarked to aman who, probably judging from our looks since we hadstruck Mexican diet, thought he had found a customer,and had insisted on showing every coffin in the house,even to the handles, plates, and linings. "Si, senorita,they are yours." Thinking they would be an unwelcomeelephant on our hands we replied with thanks, and madeour exit as quickly as possible. A young Spanish gentleman who, doubtless, was employed by the express company, said, after a few moments' conversation, "The express company and myself are yours, senorita." Weconfess to the stupidity of not accepting the bonanza,with him included.

A peep into doorways shows the people at all mannerof occupations. Men always use the machines. Womenand men put chairs together and weave bottoms in them.They also make shoes, the finest and most artistic shoe inthe world, and thecobblers can make a good shoe out of one that is so badly wornas to be useless to ourgrandmothers as arod of correction.The water-carrier,aguador, is one of themost common objectson the street. Theysuspend water-jars from their heads, one in front, oneback. Around their bodies are leather aprons to protectthem from the water, which they get at big fountains andbasins distributed throughout the city.

As a people they do not seem malicious, quarrelsome,unkind or evil-disposed. Drunkenness does not seem tobe frequent, and the men, in their uncouth way, are morethoughtful of the women than many who belong to ahigher class. The women, like other women, sometimescry, doubtless for very good cause, and then the men stopto console them, patting them on the head, smoothingback their hair, gently wrapping them tighter in theirrebozo. Late one night, when the weather was so cold,a young fellow sat on the curbstone and kept his armaround a pretty young girl. He had taken off his raggedserape and folded it around her shoulders, and as thetears ran down her face and she complained of the cold,he tried to comfort her, and that without a complaint ofhis own condition, being clad only in muslin trowsers and waist, which hung in shreds from his body.

Thus we leave the largest part of the population ofMexico. Their condition is most touching. Homeless,poor, uncared for, untaught, they live and they die.They are worse off by thousands of times than were theslaves of the United States. Their lives are hopeless, andthey know it. That they are capable of learning isproven by their work, and by their intelligence in othermatters. They have a desire to gain book knowledge, orat least so says a servant who was taken from the streets,who now spends every nickel and every leisure momentin trying to learn wisdom from books.

CHAPTER VI.

HOW SUNDAY IS CELEBRATED.

"A right good land to live in
And a pleasant land to see."

EVERY day is Sunday, yet no day is Sunday, and Sundayis less Sunday than any other day in the week. Still, theMexican way of spending Sunday is of interest to peopleof other climes and habits.

With the dawn of day people are to be seen wendingtheir willing footsteps toward their church. The bellschime with their musical clang historic to Mexico, andmen and women cross the threshold of churches olderthan the United States. Pews are unknown, and on thebare floor the millionaire is seen beside the poverty-stricken Indian; the superbly clad lady side by side withan uncombed, half naked Mexican woman. No distinction, no difference. There they kneel and offer theirprayers of penitence and thanks, unmindful of rank orcondition. No turning of heads to look at strange orgaze on new garments; no dividing the poor from therich, but all with uniform thought and purpose go downon their knees to their God.

How a missionary, after one sight like this, can wishto convert them into a faith where dress and money bringattention and front pews, and where the dirty beggar isousted by the janitor and indignantly scorned down bythose in affluence, is incomprehensible.

No Mexican lady thinks it proper to wear a hat intochurch. She thinks it shows disgust; hence the fashionof wearing lace mantillas. In this city of rights there isnothing handsomer than a lady neatly clad in black witha mantilla gracefully wrapped around her head, underwhich are visible coal-black hair, sparkling eyes, andbeautiful teeth.

A ragged skirt, and rebozo encircling a babe with itshead on its mother's shoulder, fast asleep; black, silkyhair which trails on the floor as she kneels, her wan,brown, pathetic face raised suppliantly in devotion, is oneof the prettiest, though most common, sights in Mexicoon Sunday morning.

This is the busiest day in the markets. Everything isbooming, and the people, even on their way to and fromchurch, walk in and out around the thousands of stalls,buying their marketing for dinner. Hucksters cry outtheir wares, and all goes as merry as a birthday party.Indians, from the mountains, are there in swarms withtheir marketing. The majority of stores are open; andthe "second-hand" stalls on the cheap corner do thebiggest business of the week.

Those who do not attend church find Mexico delightful on Sunday. In the alameda (park) three militarybands, stationed in different quarters, play alternatelyall forenoon. The poor have a passion for music,and they crowd the park. After one band has finished,they rush to the stand of the next, where they stay untilit has finished, and then move to the next. Thus allmorning they go around in a circle. The music, of whichthe Mexican band was a sample, is superb; even the birdsare charmed. Sitting on the mammoth trees, which,grace the alameda, they add their little songs. All this,mingled with the many chimes which ring every fifteenminutes, make the scene one that is never forgotten. Therich people promenade around and enjoy themselvessimilar to the poor.

In the Zocalo, a plazo at the head of the main streetand facing the palace and cathedral, the band plays inthe evening; also on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Maximilian planned and had made a drive which led tohis castle at Chapultepec. It is 3750 feet long, wideenough to drive four, or even six teams abreast. It isplanted on the east side with two rows of trees; one edging the drive, the other the walk, which is as wide asmany streets. The trees are now of immense size, rendering this drive one of the handsomest, as well as mostpleasant, in Mexico. Maximilian called it the Boulevarde Emperiale; but when liberty was proclaimed thename was changed to the Boulevarde of the Reform. Onthe same drive are handsome, nay more, magnificentstatues of Columbus, Quatemoc, and an equestrian statueof Charles IV. of wonderful size, which has also beenpronounced perfect by good judges. A statue of Cortezis being erected. This paseo is the fashionable promenade and drive from five to seven P. M. every day, andspecially on Sunday afternoon. The music stands areoccupied, and no vacant benches are to be found.

Those who call the Mexicans "greasers," and thinkthem a dumb, ignorant class, should see the paseo onSunday: tally-ho coaches, elegant dog-carts, English gigs,handsome coupes and carriages, drawn by the finest studs,are a common sight. Pittsburg, on this line, is nowherein comparison. Cream horses, with silver manes andtails, like those so valued in other cities, are a commonkind here. The most fashionable horse has mane andtail "bobbed." It might be added this style prevails toa great, very great extent among all animals. Cats anddogs appear minus ears and tails. Pets of every kind aremuch in demand. Ladies carry lap dogs, and gentlemenhave chained to them blooded dogs of mammoth size.The poor Mexican will have his tame birds; even roostersare stylish pets. "Mary had a little lamb" is respectedtoo much here to be called "chestnut." The favoritepets of children are fleecy lambs, which, with bells andribbons about their necks, accompany the children ontheir daily airing.

Mexico, while in the land of churches, would berightly called the city of high heels, hats, powder andcanes. Every gentleman wears a silk hat and swings a"nobby" cane. There are but two styles of hats – thetile hat and the sombrero. Every woman powders – laysit on in chunks – and wears the high heels known as theFrench opera heel. The style extends even to the men.One of the easiest ways to distinguish foreigners fromnatives is to look at their feet. The native has a neatshoe, with heels from two inches up, while the foreignerhas a broad shoe and low heel. These people certainlypossess the smallest hands and feet of any nation in theworld. Ladies wear fancy shoes entirely – beaded,bronzed, colored leather, etc. A common, black leathershoe, such as worn by women in the Slates, is an unsalable article. Yet it is nothing strange to see a lady, clad in silk or velvet, lift her dress to cross a street orenter a carriage, and display a satin shoe of exquisitemake and above it the hosiery of Eve. In fact, veryfew women ever wear stockings at all.

This city is a second Parisin the matter of dress amongthe elite. The styles andmaterials are badly Parisian,and Americans who comehere expecting to see poorly-dressed people are disappointed. Like people in the sisterRepublic, the Mexicans judgepersons by their dress. It isthe dress first and the manafter.

On Sundays the streets andparks are thronged with menand women selling ice cream,pulque, candies, cakes, andother dainties. They carrytheir stock on their headswhile moving, and when theystop they set it on a tripod,which they carry in theirarms.

The flower sellers are alwayswomen, some of whom lookquite picturesque in their gay-colored costumes. All theflowers are elegant, and arearranged in bouquets to suiteither ladies or gentlemen.

Bull fights take no little part in the Sunday list ofamusem*nts, where the poor and rich mingle freely.Theaters have matinees and evening performances, andeverything takes on a holiday look, and everybody appears happy and good-humored. This is nothing newin Mexico, however, for the most unusual sight is a fightor quarrel. These are left to the numerous dogs whichbelong to the city, and even they do little of it.

Riding horseback is a favorite pastime. Ladies onlyride in the forenoon, as custom prevents them from indulging in the saddle after one o'clock. Gentlemen,however, ride mornings and evenings. Among them areto be found the most graceful and daring riders in theworld. Their outfits are gorgeous; true Mexican saddletrimmed with gold and silver, graceful flaps of the finestfur on bridles finished with numberless silver chains.The riders are superb in yellow goatskin suits, ornamentedwith silver horse shoes, whips, spurs, etc., with silverbraid on the short coat. A handsome sombrero, finishedin silver, with silver monogram of the owner, revolvers,and proud, fiery, high-stepping horse completed the picture. The ladies' habits are similar to those now in theStates, except the fine sombrero which replaces the ugly,ungraceful high silk hats.

All day Sunday is like a pleasant Fourth of July, butafter eight o'clock the carriages become scarcer andscarcer, the people go to the theaters and to their homes,the poor seek a soft flagstone, where they repose for thenight, and by nine o'clock the streets make one think ofa deserted city.

Mexicans do not go half way in the matter of style.At one o'clock Sunday afternoons policemen in fancyuniforms, mounted on handsome horses, equipped withguns and lassoes, ride down the Boulevard. They arestationed in the center of the drive one hundred yardsapart, every alternate horse's head in the same direction.There they remain, like statues, the entire afternoon.Sunday is a favorite day for funerals and change of residence. Men with wardrobes, pianos, etc., on theirbacks are seen trotting up and down the streets like ourmoving wagons on the first day of April. They meanwell by work on Sunday, but it would appear awful tosome of our good people at home. There is this advantage, at least: they have something better to do than tocongregate in back-door saloons or loaf on the streets.

CHAPTER VII.

A HORSEBACK RIDE OVER HISTORIC GROUNDS.

A SUNDAY in Mexico is one long feast of champagne,without a headache the next day. When the first streaksof dawn appear in the east people bob out from this streetand that, hostlers hurry horses off to private residences,gay riders whirl by as if eager to catch the shades of nightas they are sinking in the west, and by 6:30 it looks as ifall Mexico was on horseback. Ladies wear beautiful costumes, dark habits, short skirts, silver and gold buttons,and broad sombreros. Men display greater variety ofcostumes; some wear yellow buckskin suits trimmed withgold or silver, others have a drab skin suit artisticallytrimmed, still others wear light cloth suits and highboots, buttoned at the side, and reaching the knee. Abelt holding a revolver, and a Mexican saddle to which isfastened a sword complete this beautiful riding suit. Andthen what riders! It is the poetry of motion; they are asbut part of the perfect horse they ride. Take the beautiful horses, artistic outfit, grand eyes glancing at youfrom beneath a pretty sombrero, and you have a Mexicanscene which is irresistible. Even Americans are a thousand times handsomer when they don this outfit, and itis safe to wager that if the men in the States would adoptthe Mexican riding-suit, there would not be a single manleft after a two months' trial.

After searching the whole city over we at last found awoman we knew, who owned a habit. "Certainly youmay have it, with great pleasure," and we thought whatan angel she was until the time we needed it, when shesent a reply: "My riding-dress is, as I told you, at your service any day in the week but Sunday. I am surprisedthat you find need of it on that blessed day." Thatevening on going to a house for dinner we found herthere, dressed to the height of fashion, discussing thepeople who had attended church in the morning and telling what a lovely drive she had on the paseo in the afternoon. She is a missionary.

However, as the sun was creeping up trying to catchnight unawares, I mounted a horse, clad in a uniqueand original costume, to say the very least, which thegallant young men, however, pronounced odd and pretty,and wanted to know if it was the style of the States.The boulevard of the Reform looked as cool and sweet asa May morning in the country, and finer than a circusparade with the hundreds of horsem*n going either way."Vamos?" (Let us go). "Con mucho gusto" (with muchpleasure), was our reply, and away flew our willingsteeds, bearing us soon to the paradise of Mexico – Chapultepec.

Greeting the guards at the gate, we entered, ridingunder trees which sheltered Montezuma and his people,Cortes and his soldiers, poor Maximilian and Charlotta,where Mexican cadets laid down their lives in defense oftheir country, where the last battle was fought with theAmericans, and where now is being prepared the futurehome of President Diaz. Around the castle and throughthe grounds we at last emerged at the opposite side.Here a scene worthy of an artist's brush was found. Ina small adobe house, faced in front by a porch, were half-clad Mexicans dealing out coffee and pulque to the horsem*n who surrounded the place. One had even riddeninto the house. Awaiting our turn we viewed the scene.On our left were mounted and unmounted uniformed soldiers guarding one of the gates to Chapultepec. At ourback were trains of loaded burros, about 200, on theirway to market in the city. They stood around and aboutthe old aqueduct, the picture of patience. Some fewhad lain down with their burdens and had to be assistedto their feet by their masters. Numerous little charcoalfires, above which were suspended pans and kettles, werebeing fanned by enterprising peons, who had started thisrestaurant to make a few pennies from their fellowmen.One fellow cut all kinds of meat, on a flat stone, intolittle pieces, which he deposited together in a kettle ofboiling water, and picking them out again with a longstick sold them, half-cooked, to the waiting people.Some women were busily knitting, weaving baskets, etc.,as they waited for this dainty repast. At last our turncame, and we turned our back on the outdoor restaurantswhile we endeavored to swallow a little bit of the miserable stuff they called coffee. As we started we saw thepeople adjust the burdens to their backs, take up theirlong walking-poles, and start their burros toward thecity. They had feasted and were now ready to continuetheir journey.

Leaping a ditch we left the highway and traveledthrough the fields, stopping to gather a few pepper berries with which to decorate ourselves, admiring the many-colored birds flitting from tree to tree. Another ditch,which the horses cleared beautifully, was left behindand we were once again on a highway, with dust about afoot deep, which made horses cough as well as their riders. "This is bad," one of the gentlemen managed tosay at last. We were only able to give a sympatheticgrunt and then had to gasp fifteen minutes before wecould regain our breath. "There is a hacienda nearwhere we will get a drink and change roads. Vamos."Off we went, leaving the dust behind, and were soon inthe shaded drive leading to the hacienda.

Here, at Huischal, we soon forgot the scorching sunand blinding dust and gave ourselves up to the pleasureof the moment, watching the ever picturesque peoplegathered in groups beneath the shade. Under the treeswere droves of horses, which were taken two by two, andled into a large walled pond. A peon walked on the wall,holding the bridle of the tethered horses, who swamfrom one end to the other, covered all but the head.After the bath the horses were rubbed well until theyglistened like satin.

Climbing the hill we passed all kinds of Indians andhuts. There were homes built entirely of the magueyplant, where straw mats served for beds. The peoplewere all awake and engaged in various occupations;some women were washing, some were making theirtoilet – combing their hair with the same kind of brushthey scrub with, and washing their bodies with a poroussoapstone common to the country. Very few of thechildren had any clothing at all, but happiness reignedsupreme. We passed several plain wooden crosses withinscriptions on them, asking travelers to pray for the deceased's soul. It brought forcibly to mind Byron's"Childe Harold."

Quite on the top of the hill, and facing Chapultepec,gleams a marble monument erected in honor of theMexicans killed while defending Casa de Mata (thehouse of the dead) and El Molino del Rey (the mill ofthe king). The Americans discovered, while encampednear here, that cannon, etc., were being manufactured atEl Molino, so they decided to storm the place; theyfound the work more difficult than they expected. TheMexicans were fighting for a country they loved, and forwhich they had been compelled to fight for generations.Their walls were strong, but at last they gave way beforethe heavy artillery of the Americans, and their deadcovered the battlefield. Casa de Mata is now a garrison,and the soldiers march back and forth with sad faces.El Molino del Rey now furnishes flour for the city. Itshows no trace of the assault. Near by is a foundry forthe manufacture of guns and munitions.

The city of the dead, Dolores, lies to the back of themill. Funeral cars and draped street cars were just returning from the cemetery, and as the people are notallowed to ride or drive along this carway, we crossed intoa plantation of pulque plant. It is a resentful thing,and a whole army in itself. It ran its sharp prongs intothe legs of the men, endeavored to pull the skirts off thewomen, and played spurs on the horses; but we finallyemerged at the entrance of the cemetery, alive, but wiserfrom our experience.

Mexican cemeteries have a certain peculiar beauty, andyet they are ugly. No one is allowed to ride or drivethrough; coffins are carried in and everybody is compelledto walk. Beautiful trees are cultivated, even the appleand the peach being reared for ornament. The walksare laid out nicely. Spruce trees are trained to form anarbor for long distances. Where they are divided or meetanother walk, flowing fountains with large basins andstatues grace the spot. One statue, which looked rathersingular, was apparently carved out of wood. It represented a man with flowing locks and beard, clad in a longgown and holding in one hand a round ball. Time hadits hand on heavily, and the wood was seamed andbrowned. Altogether it was a disreputable-looking thing.The keeper said it represented Christ with the world inhis hand. Not a sprig of grass is permitted to grow inany of the graveyards, and they are swept as clean as ourgrandmother's backyard used to be.

Men were busy digging graves, and new ones were completely hidden by fresh flowers, and the flowers on otherswere withered and dead, as if the one so lately buriedwas already forgotten. The monuments are quite fine.Some have little altars on which candles are lighted oncertain days. The prevailing style of marble shaft iscoffin shaped. Some graves have miniature summerhouses built over them, the framework covered with Spanish moss. The effect is beautiful. The poor have onlyblack and white wooden crosses to mark their ashes. Onefamily had built a cave, formed of volcanic stone, overthe grave, the effect being quite pretty and unique.

After partaking of refreshments at a long, low building, just outside the cemetery gate, we rode across thecountry and into Tacubaya, an ancient city once thehome of Montezuma's favorite chief, where the Americansoldiers were encamped, now the home of Mexican millionaires, the site of the feast of the gamblers, and theprettiest village in Mexico. The gambling feast hasended and the town has been restored to its usual quietness. In the center plaza a band was holding forth, asis the custom in every Mexican village on Sunday mornings. People had gathered in sun and shade listening.The markets were in full blast; the thousands of lusciousfruits looking fresh and inviting as they were spread onthe ground awaiting buyers. The native ware was sopeculiar and the "merchant" – half-dressed, brown andpleasant – was more than we could resist, so buying twosmall cream jugs, made after the style in vogue fiftyyears ago, we paid him two reales (fifty cents) and departed, leaving him happy.

Once again the willing horses climbed the hill, andreaching the summit we inspected the waterworks whichhave so faithfully supplied the city for years. A weather-beaten frame house hid the well or spring that has givensuch a generous supply. A wooden wheel as large as thehouse itself, moved slowly, as if age and rheumatism hadstiffened its joints. The water flowed gently through anopen trench into another building, whence it rushed,white, foaming and sparkling, into the ground, leavingonly high brick air-pipes to mark its course to the aqueduct.

By the side of the trench a woman was doing her washing, and two little lads, with poles across their shouldersand buckets suspended from either end, were carryingwater to the houses down in the valley. An old cow withcurly horns gazed at us in astonishment as we invaded herprivate meadow to get a view of a paper mill, which isbuilt in the shape of an old English castle, down in a deepravine in a nest of lovely green trees. The old cow hadevidently come to the conclusion, after deliberate reasoning, that we were intruding, and she charged our horsesin a first-class "toro" style. There were no capeadoresto attract her attention, no bourladeras for us to hide behind, so we thought it best to fly, which we did with aMaud S speed. I did not mention I had lost my hat inthe retreat until we were over the trench, and one of theyoung men gallantly started to recover it, against theprotestations of the entire crowd. We expected to seehim killed, but the cow stood watching him as he dismounted for the feminine headgear, gesticulating withhead and tail and beating the earth with her fore legs.Remounting, he saluted her, then putting spurs to hishorse he cleared the ditch, leaving the baffled and angrycow on the other side.

La Castaneda, the great pleasure-garden of the Mexicans, was next visited. Beautiful flowers, shrubbery andmarble statues grace the well-kept resort. Neat littlebenches, cunning little vine-draped nooks, sprinkling-fountains, secluded dancing-stands, deep bathing-basins,are a few of the many attractions. Shaded walks andtwisting stairways would always bring us to some newbeauty. Music and dancing are always held here everyafternoon, and although it was nearly noon they had noteven so much as a cracker in the house. In Mexiconothing in the line of edibles is kept in the houseovernight.

At Mixcoac we visited the famous flower gardens, andviewed the site where the American soldiers were garrisoned during the war. The Mexicans have found anew thing – a pun, and they are enjoying it heartily. Itis not very brilliant or very funny, but it is traveling overthe city, and every person has to repeat it to you. AnAmerican wanted to see Mixcoac – pronounced "Mis-quack." The conductor failed to let him out at theplace, and turning to the Mexicans he said: "We havemis-t-quack." But it was funnier still to an Americanwho was being showed around by a Mexican who spokevery little English. "I will take you to see Mis-quack,"said the Mexican. The American expressed his pleasureand willingness. "This is all Mis-quack," said the Mexican, pointing around the entire town. "Indeed," ejacul*ted the astonished tourist; "Miss Quack must be verywealthy."

Down the dusty road we came, passing natives shoot-ing the pretty birds just for the fun of the thing. Allother riders had disappeared, and people looked at usfrom beneath the shade in amazement, and even we felta little tired and heated after a thirty-mile ride. Wereached home at one o'clock. Since then I have beenwearing blisters on my cheeks and nose, and makingfrequent applications with the powder rag of the literarywidow and old-maid artist who room across the way.

CHAPTER VIII.

A MEXICAN BULL-FIGHT.

Mexicans are always manana until it comes to bull-fights and love affairs. To know a Mexican in daily lifeis to witness his courtesy, his politeness, gentleness; andthen see him at a bull-fight, and he is hardly recognizable. He is literally transformed. His gentleness and"manana" have disappeared; his eyes flash, his cheeksflush – in fact, he is the picture of "diabolic animation."It is all "hoy" to-day with him. Even the Spanish ladyof ease and high heels forgets her mannerisms and appears like some painted heathen jubilant over the roasting of a zealous missionary.

There have been some very good bull-fights lately inthe suburbs, for fighting is prohibited within a certaindistance of the city. When they say a good bull-fight, itmeans that the bulls have been ferocious and many horsesand men have been killed.

It is safe to say that the majority of Americans whovisit Mexico do like the natives, even on the first Sunday;attend divine service in the morning, a bull-fight in theafternoon and theater in the evening. But it is withregret that I say that many Americans who are residentsof the city now are as passionately fond of the nationalinhuman sport as a native who has been reared up to it.Some never miss a fight, and their American voice outstrips the Mexican in the shouts of "bravo" at the bloodythrusts. Yet there are tourists who cannot outsit oneperformance, and have no desire to attend a second.While we Americans cry "brutal" against the nationalamusem*nt, they in return cry "brutal" to our prize-fights, in which they see nothing to admire, and a dog-fightis beneath their contempt.

"Your humane societies would prevent bull-fights inthe States," said a Spanish gentleman; "your peoplewould cry out against them. Yet they have strong mentrying to pound one another to death, and the peopleclamor for admission to see the law kill men and women,while in health andyouth, because ofsome deed done inthe flesh. Yes, theywitness and allowsuch inhuman treatment to a fellow mortal and turn aroundand affect holy horror at us for takingout of the world afew old horses and furnishing beef for the poor."

Read of glorious bull-fights and then witness one, andthe scene is entirely changed. The day of their gloryhas departed. When Maximilian graced the countrywith his presence the fights were indeed fitted for royalsight. The costumes were of the costliest material; thehorses were of the best blood and breed, and the bullsregular roaring Texans, which needed no second sight ofa red capa to raise their feverish ire. No fight cost lessthan $5,000.

Now all is different. Maximilian lies in a grave towhich a treacherous bullet consigned him; Carlotta, stillwhat that bullet made her, a raving lunatic and a widow.Men of low degree are permitted to grace the fights,which are but miserable shadows, a farce of the formerroyal days.

The National – a narrow gauge – and the Mexican Central, run special trains consisting of twenty and twenty-five cars, first, second, and third-class, to the fights everyhalf hour. Tickets are sold during the week, which include railroad fare, admission to grounds and seat. Longbefore the time for leaving, carriages pull up to the stations and blooming senoras, fair senoritas, handsomesenors and delicate, lovely children, dressed in the heightof wealth, and fashion, enter the railway coach and pro-ceed to make themselves comfortable for the half-hour orhour's ride which is to bring them to their destination.Bands march up and are disposed of in the coaches, andlast comes a troop of soldiers, clad in buckskin suits,elaborately trimmed with silver ornaments, yard widesombreros, and armed with gun, revolver, sword, dagger,mace, and lasso, which they have no hesitation in usingin quite a characteristic manner, asking no questions,expecting no information, performing their duties fatally.

They are the "daisies" of Mexico, and in appreciationof which they are sent to grace every bull fight! Theyare the best paid soldiers in the republic, receiving $1a day, while the highest salary paid to any of the othersis twenty-five cents daily, out of which they provide theirown wearing apparel and food. The same "daisies"were all outlaws, bandits, fierce and uncontrollable.Their many deeds, always done in the name of the law,are fearful to relate, so the present president thought itpolicy to engage their services. They ride handsomehorses, furnished by the government, and are said to bethe most faithful, reliable men in the employ of the republic. Their only fault is killing without asking questions, for which they go scot-free without even so muchas a rebuke. The "daisies" have some of the finestspecimens of manhood in Mexico, and number in theirlist some handsome, open-faced, youthful boys. They canmaintain order among 6,000 people filled with pulquewithout uttering one word. Their presence is sufficient.

On speeds the train. Above the din arises the musicalsound of a strange language. A view from the windowexhibits some of Mexico's most beautiful scenery. Nowwe pass beautiful farms, magnificent artificial lakes covered with wild duck, which would delight the heart ofour American hunters, as they arise in dark clouds on theapproach of the train, and move off to a more secludedspot; beautiful fields of grain, and acres and acres ofpulque plant, quaint huts, picturesque, historic churches,ancient monastries and convents, now used for other purposes, all surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Formiles we keep our eyes on the strangest and grandestmountain in Mexico, the White Lady, or the SleepingVirgin. It deserves chapters of description and praise,but feeling our inability to do it justice we shall confineourselves to a brief remark.

Outlined against a blue sky, only such skies as arehabitual to Italy and Mexico, is a snow-topped mountainin form of a woman lying on a straight cot; on the headis a snow band, such as worn by Sisters of Mercy. Thearms are folded peacefully on the breast, and the snowgarments fall in graceful folds over the feet. There shelies and has lain for centuries in perfect outline andpeaceful repose. Even as we look the clouds play fantastically about the beauteous form. Now they cover herbody like a dark shroud. Again they drape her cot likea pall, then rise in a threatening attitude above her fairhead, but undisturbed she lies there with hands everfolded above the quiet heart, proudly indifferent to stormor shine, clad in her pure snowy garments, truly the mostbeauteous sight in Mexico. With a sigh we at last leaveher behind and are rudely brought to earth by the announcement that we have reached our destination.

The bull ring resembles somewhat a race course; thehighest row is covered and called boxes. They aredivided into small squares, which are meant to hold sixbut are crowded with four. Miserable chairs withoutbacks are the comfortable seats. Below is the amphitheater, arranged exactly like circus seats. Differentprices are charged and the cheapest is the sunny side,where all the poor sit. A fence painted in the nationalcolors – red, green and white – of some six feet in height,incloses the ring. Three band-stands, equal distancesapart, are filled with brilliantly uniformed musicians.

The judge is appointed by the municipality, but thefighters have a right to refuse to fight under one judgewhom they think will compel them to take unnecessaryrisks with a treacherous bull, for a judge once chosen hiscommands are law, and no excuse will be accepted fornot obeying, but a fine deducted from the fighter's salary,and he loses cast with the audience. The judge is in abox in the center of the shady side; with him is someprominent man, for every fight must be honored with thepresence of some "high-toned" individual, while behindstands the bugler, a small boy in gay uniform, with abugle slung to his side, by which he conveys the judge'swhispered commands to the fighters in the ring.

Below the judge hangs a row of banderillas. They arewooden sticks about two feet long with a barbed spear ofsteel in the end,which are stuck inthe bull to gore himto madness. Theyare always gayly decorated with tinseland gaudy streamersof the national colors. Sometimes firecrackers are ingeniously inserted, whichgo off when the banderilla is deftly fastened in the beast's quivering flesh.

The bands play alternately lively airs, the audience foronce find no charms in the music and forget to murmurmanana, but soon begin to cry "El toro! El toro!"(The bull! the bull!)

The judge nods to the bugler, and as he trumpets forththe gate is swung open and the grand entry is made.First comes "El Capitan" or matador, chief of the ring,and the men who kill the bull with a sword. Next eightcapeadores, whose duty consists in maddening the bulland urging it to fight by flinging gay-colored capas or capesin its face. Two picadores, who are armed with longpoles, called picas, in the end of which are sharp steelspears which they fight the bull with. After come thelazadores, dressed in buckskin suits, elaborately trimmedwith silver ornaments and broad, expensive sombreros.They ride fine horses, and do some very pretty work atlassoing. Three mules abreast, with gay plumes in theirheads, and a man with a monstrous wheelbarrow of ancient make, close up the rear. All range before thejudge and make a profound bow, after which the mulesand wheelbarrow disappear.

The dresses of the fighters are very gorgeous: satinknee-breeches and sack coat of beautiful colors, andhighly ornamented, beaded, etc. On the arm is carriedthe capa, a satin cape, the color of the suits, and littlerough caps, tied under the chin, grace the head. At theback of the head is fastened false hair, like a Chinaman's,familiarly known as "pig tail." Two gayly paintedclowns, who, unlike those in the States, never have anything to say, are always necessary to complete the company in the ring.

Again the bugle sounds, the band strikes out in all itsmight, the people rise to their feet and cry "El toro,"the fighters form a semicircle around a door, el capitandraws a bolt, flings it open, and as the bull springs forthfrom his dark and narrow cell a man perched above stickstwo banderillas into his neck to madden him. With asnort of rage he rushes for the capas. As they are flirtedbefore his eyes, he tramples them under his hoofs, andthe capeadors escape behind the bourladera, a partitionsix feet wide, placed in the arena at four places equallydistant.

At the trumpet sound a banderilla runs out waving thebanderillas above his head. He faces the maddened bullwith a calm smile. The bull paws the ground, lowershis head, and with a bellow of rage makes for his victim.Your eyes are glued to the spot. It is so silent you canhear your heart throb.There can be no possible escape for theman. But just as youthink the bull will lifthim on his horns yousee the two banderillasstuck one in eitherside of the neck, andthe man springs safelyover the lowered headand murderous hornsof the infuriated animal, as it rushes forward to find thevictim has escaped. The audience shout "bravo," andwave their serapes, sombreros and clap their hands. Thebull roars with pain, and the banderillas toss about in thelacerated flesh, from which the blood pours in crimsonstreams. "Poor beast! what a shame," we think, andeven then the order is given for the picador to attack thebull.

The horse on which the picador is mounted is boughtonly to be killed. It is an old beast whose days of beautyand usefulness are over; $2 or $4 buys him for the purpose. Sometimes he is hardly able to walk into the ring.First the brute is blindfolded with a leather band, and aleather apron is fastened around his neck in pretense ofsaving him from being gored.

The picador guides the blinded horse to face the bull.Capas are flung before the bull tauntingly. The picadordrives the pica into the beast and it vents its pain on thehorse. Blood pours from the wound; trembling thehorse stands, unable to see what has wounded it. Againthey coax the bull to charge, and place the horse so thatthe murderous horns will disembowel it. Down goesthe blinded beast, and the capeadores flaunt their capasat the bull while the picadore gets off the dying animal,which is lassoed and dragged from the ring. Anotherhorse is brought in, and the same work is gone overuntil the horse is killed.

Every bull is allowed to kill two horses, and then thepeople shout "Muerie! muerie!" (Kill the bull.) Thejudge gives the command and the matador bows to thejudge, and then teases the bull with his red capa. Thelaws prohibit a fighter to strike a bull until it firstcharges, and the bull has the chance of three charges atthe matador before he dares to strike. The bull neverappears to see the man by his side, but furiously fightsthe red capa held before him. El capitan then plungesthe sword into the neck between the shoulders andthrough to the heart, if deftly done, after which the bullstaggers, protrudes its tongue, tries to find a door forescape, stumbles and dies. Again the people shout, andthe matador, as he makes his bow to the judge, is thrownmoney, cigars, fruit, flowers and other favors. Men flingin their $50 and $100 sombreros, and consider it a greathonor when he picks them up and tosses them back.During all this the three mules are brought in. At thesight of the dead bull they plunge and tear, but arefinally hitched to it. The clowns jump on the deadbeast, and it is hauled from the ring.

When the bull is tame and, though tortured on all sides,still refuses to gore the horse, the people hiss and shout"lazadore," until the judge gives the command for thebrute, that is more humane than its tormentors, to be removed and replaced by one that will sate their feverishdesire for blood. Now is the time for the lazadores toget in some pretty work. The space is small and cramped.but with a deftness that is bewildering they throw theloop over the horns. The knowing horse dodges, thebull loses his balance and the horse gives a sudden jerk,throwing the bull on the ground. He is then allowed toarise and is started around the ring at a merry gallop,while the second lazadore exhibits great skill in lassoingthe feet, front and back, of the running beast.

The bull, after being thrown, realizes he is at theirmercy, and lies passive; or trembling with fear andpain, while the brutal clowns spring astride the prostratedbeast, and with no gentle hand tear the banderillas fromthe quivering flesh, which, still warm and dripping withblood, are sold as trophies at one and two dollars each.Then the butcher steps forth and with a sharp knife cutsthe spinal cord, and the beast is done for. When a bullrefuses to fight before he is cut, except for wounds fromthe pica and banderillas, the people cry in Spanish, "Heis a weak woman," until the judge orders his removal. Itis difficult work, and affords much fun for the Mexicans,for the bull must be forced back into the dark cell whencehe came.

One fight consists of four bulls and as many old horsesas they can be compelled to kill. A bull is not considered much unless he can kill, at the very least, twohorses. The poor horses are very seldom killed instantly.When wounded so that it is impossible for them to walk,they are dragged from the ring and left in a vacant field,where they die that night or the following day, as theMexicans do not consider them worth a bullet. The bullfinds more mercy. If not killed outright by the matador, a butcher finishes the work, and ends the misery.When stabbed fatally he often staggers along the fence,as though in hopes of finding an exit. The cruel spectators are not satisfied that he is dying, and allow himsome little mercy, but stab his wounded flesh, tear openhis death wound, twist his tail, do all in their power toenhance his sufferings until he falls dead. One wouldsuppose the heated, tortured, wounded beef would be ofno account, but such is not the case. Before manyhours, after taken from the scene of its death, the beefis being sold to the people, who buy it without the leasthesitancy or disgust, even boasting that they eat of thebull that killed so many horses, and if it happened tokill a man it is considered an honor to eat of it. Thismakes an American want little beef, and that little covered with red pepper to kill the taste. When seated opposite the entrance gate one has full view of the butcherat work. The hide is taken off the toro immediately,and it is dissected. Then they commence on the horses,but they claim the horses' flesh is not sold for beef.

At some fights the spectators are favored with a performer, who allows the maddened toro to attack him,when, by the aid of a long pole, he jumps clear over it.This is a dangerous and, many times, a fatal leap, but isa favorite sight of the people.

After the fight comes the toro embolado. A bull withballs on its horns is led in. All the paid fighters leavethe ring and any one among the spectators who has a desire to try the sport can do so. The number is not few,and the sight is really funny. They wave their serapesat the bull, who, in return, often tosses them on hishorns. The lazadores prevent him from trampling them,and it is very seldom any one is killed, though brokenarms and ribs are no unusual thing. This is the proudest day of the Mexican's life when he gains access to thebull ring and can exhibit to people hisactivity and daring.The most risky amateur is then given aposition as fighter, aposition he considersgreater than thepresidency of the United States, andfor which he wouldnot exchange.

The government charges a license of $250 for eachfight. If the bulls are tame the show is fined for givinga poor performance and swindling the people. The matador, El Capitan, whose duty it is to strike the bull'sheart with a sword, gets the highest salary, as much as$200 a performance; the other fighters receive from $10to $100.

Sometimes a fight is given for charitable purposes.Young girls dressed like brides in white satin, veil andsatin shoes, do all the directing, and young men of position and birth are the fighters.

It is to be supposed that when a man is killed in thering the fight would stop, but that only seems to whettheir desire for more blood, and a dead man is pulled offthe field and another takes his place amid increasedenthusiasm. At a fight two weeks ago one man wasgored almost to death, another had his arm broken, anda woman, who had witnessed this from her seat, enteredthe ring and tried to kill the bull. She was caught onits horns and carried once around the ring and whirledaround in her perilous position like a top. The audienceshouted and was much disappointed when the bull castthe woman to the ground, devoid of clothing and badlybruised, but alive. At another fight three men werekilled. Both times the spectators could hardly be forcedto leave at the end of the performance. It is safe to assert that that beef sold at a high price.

Bernardo Javino, the man who was gored almost todeath two weeks ago, has quite a history. He camefrom Spain fifty-one years ago, and is eighty-two yearsold, the oldest fighter in Mexico, and the most famous.He has fought in every bull ring in the republic, and haskilled four thousand bulls. Senor Javino is a well-built,fine-looking fellow, and though but lacking eighteenyears of one hundred is as strong as a man of thirty-five.He is a great favorite, and has received numerous andcostly presents, among which he numbers one thousandfine bulls. But he is to-day very poor, and has only hissalary. He is unmarried. Though the idol and favoriteof the people, they shouted with joy when they saw himbeing gored. The bull caught him in the small of theback, and though making only one wound outside madefive inside. He was carried off for dead, but thoughhaving a wound that would have finished any other man,he is still living, and asserts he will repay many bullsyet for his sufferings. The bull that had the honor tonearly finish the old warrior, killed three horses, brokethe man's arm, and almost finished the woman.

Senor Javino has a nephew, Juan Moreno, who givespromise of being the best fighter, after his uncle, in theRepublic. He is a six-footer of magnificent build, witha handsome face, fair complexion, with brown hair, re-sembling a handsome American boy, in honor of whichthe Mexicans have named him El Americano (the American). Their shouts are long and long for El Americano, and presents are showered down on him. He canaccomplish the daring feat of striking the bull's heartwith one thrust of the sword, which he withdraws instantly. This is considered scientific, for when the swordstrikes the heart it is very difficult to withdraw, and ismost always left sticking in until the bull dies. In thefrontier the horns are sawed off the bulls before they goin the ring, in order to make the fight fierce and bloodier.It is said they are trying to stop this cruel torture.

The fight being finished the bands depart and the people make their way to the train with reluctance, wherevenders earn a mint of money by selling them pulque anda mixture of crushed corn and red pepper, done up incorn husks, which is eaten with a relish. After this Mexican feast is finished the train pulls out, everybody, men,women, and children, light their cigarettes, and betweenpuffs they discuss the merits and demerits of the fight.The homeward trip is a very joyous one, so much so that"the daisy policemen" are often called on to exert theirinfluence in quieting the mirth.

CHAPTER IX.

THE MUSEUM AND ITS CURIOSITIES.

THE first place tourists go on reaching Mexico is to thepost-office. All one has to do when desiring to know whatthe latest incoming party looks like, is to take a positionnear the post-office. They stroll up the street, generally"goose fashion," stopping now and again to gaze at someprostrated pulque drinker; a wardrobe moving up thestreet on a pair of bare legs – i. e., a woman with a half-dozen babies tied to her; an old cripple sitting on thewalk selling taffy, or a blind man selling lottery tickets.Amid all this they manage at last to get into the office,and we see them emerge, a half-hour later, with funeral-like faces, and woman-like tongues giving their opinionsof the officials who do not understand bad Spanish, notto mention English, and of the mails which take threedays and the same number of nights to come from thenearest point of the States, El Paso.

For the want of something better to do we will followthem to the next point of interest – the museum – whichis in the same building, several doors above the post-office. It is not the kind of a museum where you have atwo-cent show for a ten-cent silver piece, but it is a placethat any city might be proud of. At the top of thestairs, for the museum is on the second floor, are severallarge paintings of religious subjects and an immense mirror with a fine frame, which was stolen from somecathedral during one of the many revolutions of Mexico.

The first room contains a life-size portrait of Maximilian, seated on a beautiful white steed. Around are Mexicans gazing at him with admiration and awe. Maximilian is a handsome man, and the picture is said to be thefinest of Maximilian in existence. If so, he was indeed,by virtue of looks, worthy to be an emperor.

In the center of the room on a table is the silver service, composed of one hundred and seventy-six pieces,used by Maximilian and Carlotta. Each piece bears thearms of the empire and the mark of the factory "Cristofle." It is massive and elegant; little silver cupidswith wreaths of flowers are placed in every available spot.Many of the pieces are a load for two men. A bronzebust, life size, of Maximilian, has decorations and tenhalberds, silver-mounted with blue and gold trimmings,ordered by the emperor to be used by the Palace Guardon state occasions, are all placed side by side. In a casein the same room are a number of loose pieces of armorworn by the conquerors. Two pieces, a breast plate andhelmet, have the name of "Pedro de Alvarado," theSpanish captain who made the world-famous leap nearNoche Triste.

Portraits of sixty-two Spanish Viceroys line the room.They were removed from the national palace here, on theestablishment of the independence of the Republic. Theframes are of black wood and the paintings are old style.It may have been the fashion in the day of white queuesto always have one "off" eye, for one eye in nearly allthe pictures goes a different direction from its mate, andin many instances the "off" eye is as roguish as a littlebrother, making you imagine the old rascals are goingto wink, while the opposite orb gazes out in saint-likeexpression. The effect is ludicrous. The glass-ware ofthe Emperor Iturbide, containing excellent portraits ofhimself and Chapultepec Castle, is also shown in thisroom. In the next room, in a glass case, lying on a redsatin, gold covered pillow, is a plaster paris cast of theface of Juarez, the much beloved Indian President;hairs of his head are still adhering to the plaster, and itis certainly the finest thing of the kind ever executed.

The portraits of Fernando Cortes Agustin de Iturbide,Emperor I., Ignacio Allende, one of the earliest patriotsof Mexico, the great Antonio Lopezde Santa Ana and Don VicenteGuerrero, who was the third President of the Republic, are here, tosay nothing of other things of historic value, such as the arms of theMexican Republic made in 1829,surrounded with Indian mosaicfeather work; an old, worn damaskbanner used by Cortes in his secondexpedition against the great Montezuma, and the arms of the cityof Texcoco, presented by CharlesV., of Germany, and Charles I., ofSpain.

The little idols perhaps attractmore attention than anything elseat the museum. In two long roomsthe cases lining the walls are filledwith idols of all sizes and shapes,made of stone onyx and marble.Some of the pottery is horribly exquisite. Beads used by the Indians,made of stones, teeth and bones, are numerous. Thelarge objects on the pedestals come in for a share of wonder. They are adorned with names of wondrous lengthand non-pronounceable, and stories of horror. Izcozauhqui (the Fire of the Sun) is in ugly red and yellow clay;Huitzilopoxtli (the God of War), a black clay image,equally ugly. A clay urn with carved faces, flowers andfruits on the outside, is called the "Funeral Urn." The"Goddess of Death "is an image some fifty inches inheight, with large round eyes formed of bone, and outstretched hands of the same material, Her skirts areformed of serpents and her head is a skull. Large brownearthen jars, said once to have held sacred fires, are amongthe collection. It may be historically correct and all thehorrible tales connected with these things true, but themore one looks the less probable it seems, and after allthey may have been innocent statues and flower vasesused by this people in former days. It is just as likely,and easier to be believed, for how can it be asserted, whenthey are unearthed after centuries, that they were usedfor any special purpose. Of course the more sensationalthe story the better for print, but it is much easier to believe they were only harmless objects in some park orflower garden.

History tells us the Aztecs knew no alphabet, and usedin place certain signs or figures for every subject – history, religion, feasts, wars, famines, and even poetry.The art of writing in this manner was taught by thepriests, and handed down from father to son. Paintershad to be frequently called to decipher the documents,and were treated with the highest consideration by thenobility. The manuscript employed was made of magueyand other plants and of skins. The Spanish destroyedthe majority of these manuscripts, which would havebeen of great value if preserved. A few are now in themuseum. From an artistic point of view they are horrid.

The colors they used in painting are nearly always indelible and very bright. One of the paintings shows asnow-capped mountain, Popocatepetl, and to the left theCity of Mexico, entirely surrounded by water. A fiftyfoot maguey paper painted in black, contains the historyof the Aztecs. How they left an island which held atemple and came to Mexico, establishing the city, withall the principal events which befell them in their wanderings. The battle of Noche Triste and the advent ofthe Spanish, are carefully portrayed. This is one of thefamous picture writings, which are too tiresome toenumerate further.

The feather shield which belonged to Montezuma II.,is in a frame in the same room with the picture writing.It is an old, worn-out, faded thing, and hangs too faraway to be seen well. It was among the curiosities givenby Cortes to the Emperor Charles V, He in turn pre-sented it to the Museum of Vienna, where it remaineduntil Maximilian restored it to Mexico.

One room is devoted to the display of Mexican marbles, stones, ores, etc. Another has petrified snakes,wood, human and animal bones. Cow horns measuringseven feet from tip to tip were excavated somewhere nearMexico. Elephant jaws and tusks which treble the sizeof those sported by the late lamented Jumbo are alsofrom the historic, mysterious earth of Mexico. Amongthe many other things were noticed human bones protruding through a rock, and a turtle's shell which, ifopened, would make a carpet for a grand salon.

Snakes, lizards, fish and crabs of all kinds fill one goodsized room, divided in the center by stuffed alligators,sword fish, crocodiles and boa constrictors. This opensinto another department, and here you meet the Mexicandudes occasionally. There are few collections of birds toequal this. Added to their own numerous beautiful andrare birds are specimens from all parts of the world. Thework is especially fine, and the birds and fowls appear asif in life. One thing to be regretted is they have no butterflies. In all the museum they have but one small case,and they are the beauties which come from Brazil. Thecollection of beetles is somewhat larger, but still is nothing remarkable.

Monstrosities are quite plenty. One little calf has onehead, one large eye in the center of its forehead, and twoperfect bodies. Another has one perfect body and twoheads. Two pheasants are fastened together like theSiamese twins. Dogs, cats, chickens, and even babiescome in for their share of doubling up into all kinds ofqueer shapes. Monkeys, baboons, gorillas and a dilapidated elephant and giraffe finish this interesting quarter.

The court of the museum is planted with beautifulflowers and trees. Large idols were once standing there,but they have been moved inside of the building oppositethe entrance. The idols can lay no claim to beauty, andare anything but interesting, except to people who havea wonderful amount of faith and a capacity to believe afellow-creature's wild imagination. Scientific gentlemenwith long faces and one eye-glass gaze at the images andtranslate, or at least pretend to, the hieroglyphics whichcover them. We would not think for a moment of puttingan opinion against one held by wise men since the timeof the Conquest, and we would not like to say Bernal Diazhad an object in making the Indians as black as possible, but we would like to gently hint our little observations.

The sacrificial stone, where they claim fifty thousandpeople have been sacrificed, looks little as if intended forthat bloody purpose. The stone is perfectly round, between four and six feet across and about two feet inthickness. On the upper side is sculptured the image ofthe sun or moon and on the sides are groups of men, fifteen in number, and fifteen separate groups. Certainhieroglyphics accompany each group. The work is fine,and must have been done with great care and patienceby a master hand. Marring the top is a rudely cut holewith a shallow groove running to the edge. If thesepeople were making a sacrificial stone would they havecut fine figures, requiring care and time, and then spoilthem by cutting out a big hole? Would not the basinhave been cut out finely and the carvings made to fit? Imay be lacking in knowledge and faith, but I have triedto believe, have gazed on the stone with the thought,"History says the blood of fifty thousand human beingshas dripped down over that stone," but proofs assertthemselves, and the poor scandalized thing seems to hold upevery side and the ugly marring of its beauty, and reply,"Now, do I look as if I was made for that purpose?"

Though believing it was nothing more than an innocent Aztec calendar, we will repeat the sensational legend that covers it with a bloody cloak. There existedan Aztec order which worshiped the sun, and on thisstone they sacrificed human beings, calling them the"messenger to the sun." The "messenger," who wasalways a prisoner, was painted half red and half white.Even his face was divided in this manner. A whiteplume was glued to his head. In one hand he carried agaily trimmed walking-stick, and in the other a shieldwith cotton on it, and on his back was a small bundle ofdifferent articles. Music was played as he ascended thestairway to the temple. There he was greeted by somehigh priest, who commanded him to go to the sun, present the articles he carried and deliver messages theysent. Finally, when he reached the summit, he turnedtoward the sun and in a loud voice proclaimed what wastold him. Then they took away his bundles and cut histhroat, drenching the sun on the stone and filling thebowl with his blood. When the blood ceased to flow theheart was cut out and held aloft to the sun until cold.Then the message was delivered.

It is said the Aztec calendar was carved in 1479, andits inauguration was celebrated with fearful sacrifices,but the conquering Cortes had it pulled down, and it remained buried until lowering the grade of the ancientpavement in 1790, when it was built in the southwesterntower of the cathedral. There it remained until abouta year ago, when it was removed to the museum, whereit now occupies a prominent position. The Sad Indian,a statue so-called becauseit was unearthed on a streetof that name, is a jolly-looking fellow, and compels one's admiration, despite his broad nose andugly features. So far Ihave heard no blood-curdling tales connected withhim, but the wiseacreshakes his head solemnlyand replies: "Hundreds ofhuman beings were sacrificed on his account, butthe history has escaped mymemory." Meanwhile, theold fellow sits there withfolded hands and a comical expression on his face,thinking, probably, of theduties which he once performed, which were, undoubtedly, holding a lampor a flag, as the hole through the folded hands and between the feet directly beneath proves.

It is quite interesting to roam around and examinethis broad face and that slim one, from those of mammoth size to ones the size of one's hand. We grow tolike the queer objects which certainly formed some partin the lives of those strange people who lived and diedcenturies before us.

In one corner locked up in a cell by itself is the coachof Maximilian and Carlotta. It is one of the finest in theworld, and is similar in construction and finish to thatused on State occasions by the Czar of Russia. Thecoach was a present to Carlotta from Napoleon II. It isso fine that it is difficult to give a description of it. Theroyal coat of arms is on every available spot, on the doorsand above, wrought in gold, and embroidered in gold onthe crimson velvet which covers the driver's seat. Theentire coach is gold and crimson except for the inside,which is heavy white silk, cords, fringe and tassels of thesame. Gold cherubs the size of a three-month-old babyfinish each corner. The carriage was drawn by eightpure white horses or the same number of coal black ones,and as it swept downthe grand passes tosuperb Chapultepec,holding its royal owners, it must havebeen a sight fit forkings. But it standsto-day a silent memento of a murderedyoung emperor and ablighted empress. Allthe men employed atthe museum are disabled soldiers, and itspeaks well of the government to give them this employment. They seem to rightly belong in among this queerstuff, for it would take half a dozen of them to make awhole man. The museum is open only from ten totwelve, and is free to all.

But our tourists are even now standing on the outside,wondering if they have not fasted enough to do penancefor all the sins ever committed; and if they will get muchelse than frijoles, rice, and red peppers for dinner – or,more properly speaking, breakfast. We know just whatthey will visit this afternoon, and if you care to see italso we will try, in our humble way, to show you around.

CHAPTER X.

HISTORIC TOMBS AND LONELY GRAVES.

HOW much I would like to paint the beauties of Mexicoin colors so faithful that the people in the States couldsee what they are losing by not coming here. How Iwould like to show you the green valley where the heatof summer and blast of winter never dare approach;where every foot of ground recalls wonderful historicalevents, extinct races of men and animals, and civilizationolder by far than the pyramids. Then would I take youfrom the table-laud to the mountain, where we descendinto deep canons that compare in their strange beautywith any in the world; the queer separation of the earth,not more than 100 feet from edge to edge of precipice,but 400 feet deep. More wonderful still is the sight whenthe rainy season fills these gorges with a mad, roaring torrent. Then would I lead you to the edge of some bluffthat outrivals the Palisades – and let you look down thedizzy heights 500 feet to the green meadows, the blooming orchards, the acres of pulque plant, the little homesthat nestle at the foot of this strange wall. Then furtherup into the mountains you could see glaciers, grander, itis claimed, than any found in the Alps. Here are buriedcities older than Pompeii, sculptures thousands of yearsold, hieroglyphics for the wise to study, and everywherethe picturesque people in their garb and manners of centuries ago – and all this within a day's travel from thecity. Surely in all the world there is none other suchwonderful natural museum.

Business men who wish to rest from their labors findperfect quiet in this paradise. All cares vanish. Somestrange magic seems to rob one of all care, of every desire to hurry. Railways furnish comfortable and safetransportation; the people are attentive and polite, andas many comforts are attainable as at any other placeaway from the States. People who have any desire to seeMexico in all its splendor should come soon, for civilization's curse or blessing, whichever it may be, has surelyset a firm foot here, and in a few years, yielding to itsinfluence, all will be changed. Already the dark-eyedsenora has changed the lovely, graceful mantilla for stiff,ugly bonnets and hats; the poor Indian woman is replacing the fascinating reboza with a horrid shawl; the Indian man is changing sandals for torturing shoes and thecool linen pantaloons and serape for American pantaloonsand coat. Civilization and its twin sister, style, havecaught them in their grasp, and unless you come soonMexico will cease to be attractive except as a new California.

There is one thing I hope will ever remain, and that isthe graveyard of San Fernando, where most of the illustrious dead of Mexico are entombed. But it is doubtful,as a little beyond are the fine houses of the foreign representatives, and the houses are crowding up to the gateof this dead city as though trying to push it out of existence. An old cathedral, faced by a green plaza, rears itshead at one side, near the massive iron gates which thekeeper, sitting just within its portals, swings open andadmits one with a welcome that is surprising. All aroundare people buried in the walls. The plates are decoratedin all manner of ways. Some have a little niche whichhold the image of the Virgin and several candles. Othersare hung with wreaths, and some with crepe. The majority have places to hold candles, which are burnt thereon certain days. The nearest tomb to the gate holds theremains of a young girl who died, quite suddenly, on theday she was to be married, just an hour before the timeappointed. Near here is erected a fine shaft in honor ofGeneral Ignacio Comonfort, who was a President once,but was shot at Molino de Toria, November 13, 1863, bythe Americans. Several yards beyond is a plain, brownstone, built in an oblong box shape, with a large, stonecross in the center. It is weather-beaten and worn, andlooks to be centuries old. All the information it gives astranger is in two large initials, T. M., rudely cut on theside.

No date or usual verse of regret from loving friends isinscribed, and somehow a thrill of pity strikes one forT. M., as it seems to be the only grave in all that quietcity that bears no mark of loving hands. I took my penknife and hastily cut in the soft stone R. I. P. "Whenthe Mexican friend, who had during this time been engaged with the gateman getting some information, cameup he said: "The grave you stand beside is that of Gen-eral Tomas Mejia, who was shot with Maximilian, andhere is the tomb of the other." It was similar in shapeto General Mejia's, but some kind hand had hungwreaths on the cross. General Miguel Miramon waspresident of the republic before Maximilian. He was abrave and good man, and the emperor well knew hisworth.

TOMB OF BENITO JUAREZ.

When they stood up to be shot, Maximilian in the center, Mejia on the right and Miramon on the left, the center of course being considered the place of honor, Maxi-milian, touching Miramon on the shoulder, said: "Youare more worthy this place than I," and he exchangedplaces, and so they died.

The tomb of Benito Juarez, the Indian President, isthe finest in the place. It is a long marble tomb. On itlies the life-size body of Juarez, partly covered with amantle. Sitting at his head, with her hands on his heart,is a beautiful woman, representative of the nation mourning for its much beloved President. The whole is a perfect study, and was designed and executed by a Mexican.

The life of Juarez is a very romantic one. He is familiarly known as the "Lincoln of Mexico." He wasborn in the State of Oaxaca, 1806, and at the age oftwelve years could neither read nor write. He was a full-blooded Indian, and could not even speak the Spanishlanguage. However, he tried to improve his time, and in1847 he was Governor of his native State. He went toNew Orleans, on being banished by Santa Anna, but returned to Mexico in 1855 and became President of theCourt of Justice. When Comonfort was overthrown bythe clerical party, Juarez set himself up at Vera Cruz asConstitutional President of the Republic. The UnitedStates recognized him as such, and he successfully foughtthe priesthood and confiscated all the church property.When Maximilian ascended the throne, Juarez sent hisfamily to New Orleans, but he remained here until compelled to cross the frontier. The United States, whichhad always favored Juarez, interfered in his behalf. Atthe termination of the War of the Rebellion Maximilianwas betrayed and shot, and Juarez was re-elected in 1871,and died in office June 18, 1872.

He has a daughter who is married and living in Mexico in greater style than the president. She resemblesher father. A story is told of Juarez that is new at thevery least. He had plenty of enemies, especially amongthe church party. One day he sent a band out to capturean outlaw, who, notwithstanding his enemies, stood wellwith the clergy. The bandit was met on the highwayand shot before he could utter a prayer. They said hissoul was lost, and Juarez was to blame. When he wasdying it was endeavored to keep the matter quiet, andthe people were in ignorance of his fatal illness until onemorning they saw a notice posted on street corners, whichread in this style:

"Hell, 1.30. Juarez just arrived. Devil putting onhis tail."

It was signed by the name of the bandit.

General Ignacio Zaragoza, the conqueror of the Frenchin Puebla, May 5, 1862; General Vincente Guerrero,one of the principal heroes of the War of Independence;Mariano Otero, one of Mexico's most famous orators;Melchor Ocampo, a very distinguished philosopher andpolitican, and the companion and right hand of Juarez,helping him to establish the liberal principles; FranciscoZarco, one of the Constitutionalists; General Jose Joaquin de Herrera, one of the best Presidents the Republicever had, and other famous generals, statesmen, writers,and artists fill up this quiet spot. The gates are only opennow to visitors. They no longer register dead guests.

Among many other things Mexico can boast of is thepublic library. It is situated on Calle de San Augustin,in the old church and convent of Saint Augustin. Thehigh iron fence which incloses it is topped with marblebusts of famous orators and authors. The little greenplot in front is filled with rare plants and fountains.The face of the church is a mass of wondrous carvings,and the vestibule is a crown of splendid architecture.Directly over the door leading into the room is the"World." On one side brass hands and figures tell thehour. Standing on one foot on top of it is a life sizefigure of "Time," in bronze. The attitude, the scytheover the shoulder, the expression on the face, the long,flowing beard and hair are perfect. Opposite Time, andat the other end of the room is the Mexican coat ofarms. Book-cases line each side, and in the center arereading-desks and easy-chairs. At the right entrance isa large statue of Humboldt, and on the left Cuvier.Opposite one another are Descartes and Copernicus,Dante and Alarcon, Origen and Virgil, Plato andCicero, Homer and Confucius, and in the center a largefigure with a book in hand marked "Science."

The books are catalogued under the heads of philosophy, history, fiction, etc., and are placed in cases alphabetically. They are in all languages, and many of themare very ancient. Some are on parchment and in picturewriting. The library has catalogued one hundred andsixty thousand volumes, and owns many besides that arenot yet sorted and arranged. It is open from 10 A. M. to5 P. M., and is equally free to all. It is well patronizedby men, but it is safe to say no woman has ever read abook inside its walls. The only women who ever enterare tourists. The books are not permitted to go outsidethe building. A man gets a printed card. On it hewrites the title, number and case of his book, and whenthe hour comes to close he lays the book on the desk ofthe janitor and gives his card to the superintendent.Many of the ancient books were taken at the time of theconfiscation of the monasteries and convents.

The carnival passed off very quietly. As I said before,Mexico is becoming civilized, and doing away with manyancient and beautiful customs. In former years everyday on carnival week the paseo was crowded with maskedmen and women in historic and comic garb, and battleswere fought with empty egg-shells and queerly constructed things for the same purpose. This year everyperson went, but only the fewest number were masked.Some few among the lower class threw egg-shells. Beyond this all was quiet. It has also been the custom togive fancy-dress and masked balls. In all the theaterspublic balls were held and the clubs gave private receptions. The French Club had their rooms nicely decorated and the best people attended, dressed in the finestand most original costumes. Perhaps the most strikingone was a creamy satin embroidered with red roses andcovered with natural butterflies of gorgeous and brillianthue. The young ladies all wore their dresses just reaching their knees, and the fancy boots displayed weresomething marvelous; satin of all shades, embroideredwith gold and silver, and trimmed with flowers.

One couple, who have been lately engaged, were dressedalike. The girl wore a short dress of white satin, profusely trimmed with pompons of white fur; white satinboots trimmed the same way, and over her loose hair ofmarvelous length and thickness was a point lace veil.The groom wore satin knee breeches, short coat, highhat and boots, all covered with the white fur pompons.They were accompanied by the mother, in a brocadecrimson velvet on a canary background and rich yellowlace, low-necked and en train, and the father in commondress suit. The Mexican boys never appeared better thanin the grand old dress of former days. Mostly crimsonvelvet and satin were affected, showing to an advantagetheir superb eyes and complexion. The women were remarkable for their homeliness.

A grand supper of thirty-five courses was served andmore wine, champagne and cigarettes consumed thanwould be done at forty receptions in the East.

Now, having shown you how they do at private ballswhere only the elite are permitted to attend, would youlike to don a mask and domino and sit with these verysame people in the boxes at the theaters, and watch thepromiscuous crowd beneath? It is not a select crowd byany means, but one composed of the lowest in the land.Yet men take their wives, sisters, and friends, masked,that they may watch through opera glasses this wonderful sight, and wives and sweethearts get friends to takethem, that they, unseen, may see if husband or lovertakes part in the revel, for the men are of the best andwealthiest families.

At 11 o'clock the doors are flung open and people comein slowly. The two bands play alternately the Spanishdanza and the waltz. The women come in dressed in allthe styles ever invented. One beautiful woman wore ablue satin dress, embroidered with pink rose buds. Another wore blue, trimmed with beaded lace, which glittered like hundreds of diamonds in the gas-light. Twocame together, one in black, the other in crimson velvet,profusely and gayly embroidered. Some were dressedafter the style of the male dudes of the States, but themajority wore nothing but a comic-opera outfit, dottedwith silver or gold spangles, according to the color. Themen, with the exception of a half dozen, wore their common suits, and never removed their hats. Nearly all thewomen wore their hair short, which they had powdered.

At first they wore masks, but in a short time they wereremoved, and by 3 o'clock everybody was drunk. Whena man refused to dance with a woman, a fight was the result, and everybody would quit dancing until it was settled. One year fifteen men were killed during the week itlasted. This year but one has met his death. The ac-tions and dancing of this mob will bear no description,and at 7 o'clock the performance ended. The managerof the National Theater has promised that his house shallnever be used for this purpose again.

The carnival was celebrated in fine style at Amecameca,right at the foot of the White Lady. Indians came fromall parts of the country and paraded the entire weekaround the church and temple with lighted candles. AtPuebla they had egg battles, and in all little places thefeast was carried on as in former days.

Sights in the city have begun to assume a familiar look,although one never tires of them, and I begin to thinkof moving elsewhere.

The buried city is slowly being unearthed at San Juan.Already they have brought to light a house of magnificent size and finish, and in a few days it will be wellworth a visit. Tourists have been going down regularly,but beyond a few men at work, little was to be seen.What they missed they furnished with their imagination,as did also some correspondents who would not wait toget legitimate news.

The mint, which is situated in the suburbs of the city,is turning out fifty thousand dollars in silver per day.The first coin struck was in 1535, and in three hundredyears they coined $2,200,000,000. The men employedget from one to two dollars a day. In a month fromnow the government is going to make fifteen millioncents. Gold coin, although in use here, is not mademore than once a month.

The arsenal is in a fine old building directly in the opposite direction from the mint. All departments arenot running – for the lack of money, so they say. Theymake but three hundred and fifty entire guns a day, buthave one million dollars' worth in stock. In one roomthey have a fine collection of arms, such as are used byevery nation in the world. The iron and wood used isMexican, the latter a superb walnut, which requires nooil or varnish. The people here employed get from onereal (twelve and a half cents) to two dollars a day, thehighest that is paid.

The tourists who have such a mania for mementoshave brought disgrace on themselves and others also. The governor has been very kind, and has thrown openthe embassadors' hall, without reserve, for their inpection.It is a beautiful place, containing life-sizepaintings of Washington, Juarez, Hidalgo and otherillustrious men. The chandeliers, hung with brilliantcut-glass pendants, terra cotta and alabaster vases andhandsome clocks, were once the property of Maximilian.At either end of the long hall are crimson velvet andgold-hung thrones, where the president receives hisguests. Some trophy fiend, most probably some girlwith the thought of a crazy patch, cut a large pieceout of one of these damask curtains; consequently thegovernor has issued orders that no visitors shall be admitted, and the Yankees have gone down one notchfurther in the scale where they already, by their own conduct, hold a low position. It is to be hoped that thosewho come in the future may act so that no more shamewill fall on us.

CHAPTER XI.

CUPID'S WORK IN SUNNYLAND.

LOVE! That wonderful something – the source ofbliss, the cause of maddened anguish! Love and marriage form the basis of every plot, play, comedy, tragedy,story, and, let it be whispered, swell the lawyer's pursewith breach of promise and divorce case fees. Yet itblooms, with a new-found beauty in every clime, and asthere is no land in all the world more suitable for romance than Mexico, it is pertinent to show how love isplanted, cultivated and reaped in this paradise, so as tolet our single readers in the States compare the systemhere with home customs and benefit thereby, whether bymaking good use of their own free style or cultivating anew, those interested must decide.

Mexicans may be slow in many things, but not slow inlove. The laws of Mexico claim girls at twelve, and boysat thirteen years are eligible to marriage, and it is not anunusual sight to see a woman, who looks no more thanthirty-five, a great-grandmother. As children, the Mexicans are rather pretty; but when a girl passes twenty shegets "mucho-mucho" avoirdupois, and at thirty shesports a mustache and "galways" that would causeyoung bachelors in the States to turn green with envy.The men, on the contrary, are slim and wiry, and do notboast of their hirsute charms, especially when in company with women, as they have little desire to call attention to the contrast, and the diamond-ring finds othermeans of display than stroking and twisting an imaginary mustache. Yet this exchange of charms interferesin no way with love-making, and the young man waftssweet kisses from his finger-tips to the fair – no, dark – damsel, and enjoys it as much as if that black, silkydown on her lip were fringing the gateway to hisstomach.

Boys and girls, even in babyhood, are not permitted tobe together. Before very long they compel their eyes tospeak the love their lips dare not tell, and with a littlepractice it is surprising how much they can say, and howcold and insipid sound words of the same meaning incomparison.

All the courting is done on the street. When eveningkindly lends its sheltering cloak, even though the moonsmiles full-faced at the many love-scenes she is witnessing, the girl opens her casem*nt window and, with guitarin her hand or dreamily watching the stars, she awaitsher lover. If her room is on the ground floor she is inparadise, for then they can converse – he can even touchher hand through the bars. But if she is consigned to aroom above she steps out on the balcony. If the distanceis not too great, they can still converse; but otherwise,with the aid of pencil, paper, and tiny cord, they manage to spend the evening blissfully without burningpapa's coal and gas, and staying up until unseemlyhours.

The lovers are unmindful of the people who pass andrepass, and the kind-hearted policeman never even thinksof telling the young man to "move on." If the houseis secluded the lover tells his devotion in musicalstrains. Night is not only devoted to love-making, butin the broad light of day the young man will standacross the street and from the partly opened casem*ntof the fair one are visible a hand and a nose – ofcourse she has full view, but that is all that can be seenof her. With the hand they converse in deaf and dumblanguage, which, added to their own signs, makes alarge dictionary. It is not likely there exists a Mexicanwho is not an adept in the sign language. Courting istoo vulgar a word for them, so they call it – translated inEnglish – playing the bear.

You would naturally wonder how a girl who neverleaves her mother's or chaperon's side, who never goesto parties, who is watched like a condemned murderess,would ever get a lover; but notwithstanding all thisstrictness they number less old maids andmore admirers thantheir sisters in theStates. Perhaps whileout driving, at thetheater or bull-fights,they see a man theythink they will like.He is similarly impressed. He followshis new-found onehome, and she knowsenough to be on thebalcony awaiting hisarrival with theshades of night. Hemay play the bearwith her for a yearand she not know hisname. He has the advantage, for he canfind out everythingabout her family, andthereby determinewhether she is a desirable bride or not.

Sometimes they play the bear for from seven to fifteenyears – that is, if the parents are very wealthy – and eventhen not get the girl, for with all their passionate love theynumber many flirts. Often one girl will have two ormore playing the bear at the same time. If they chanceto meet they inquire, fiercely, "Whom are you after?"If the answer demonstrates the same girl, one will requestthe other to step aside. if he refuses a duel follows.After that the girl is bound, by the custom of her country, to relinquish both. If a brother or father discoversa "bear," the latter must submit to a thrashing fromtheir hands if he still desires to retain the girl's love. Ifa father notices the attention of a "bear" and looks withfavor upon him, he does not disturb his "playing."When he concludes he has served long enough he is invited into the house. This means the same as if he hadasked her hand in marriage and has been accepted. Heis the intended husband, but never for a moment is healone with his fiancee. He may aspire to take the driver'splace sometimes, or to take the entire family to thetheater.

A young American had been received in great favorby a Spanish family; probably the old man thought hewould like an American for a son-in-law. However,young America was not going to waste any time sittingin the house with the old folks, so he politely requestedthe object of his admiration to go to the Italian opera.She graciously accepted. When he went to the house hefound not only his lady love but the entire family prepared to accompany him. The deed was done; he couldnot back out, and for the privilege of talking to themother, with the daughter sitting on the other side casting love-lit glances from her splendid eyes, he paid forty-three dollars. He was disgusted, and accordingly gaveup his chance of being a member of a Mexican family.

If a man gets impatient and feels like becoming responsible for the price of his sweetheart's bonnets, heasks the father. If he is rejected he can go to a publicofficial, swear out a notice to the effect that his and thegirl's happiness is ruined by the father's heartlessness.He then secures a warrant, which gives him the privilegeof taking the girl away bodily from the home of herparents. This is a Mexican elopement. If, on the otherhand, he is accepted, the wedding-day is named, andagreements are drawn up as to how much will be thedaughter's portion at the death of her parents. Beforethat period she receives nothing. The intended husbandfurnishes the wedding outfit, and all the wearing apparelshe has been using is returned to her parents. She hasabsolutely nothing. The groom buys the customaryoutfit – white satin boots, white dress and veil.

A Mexican wedding is different from any other in theworld. First a civil marriage is performed by a publicofficial. This by law makes the children of that couplelegitimate and lawful inheritors of their parents' property. This is recorded, and in a few days – the day following or a month after, just as desired – the marriage isconsummated in the church. Before this ceremony thebride and groom are no more allowed alone together thanwhen playing the bear. At a wedding the other day thechurch was decorated with five hundred dollars' worthof white roses. The amount can be estimated when it isstated roses cost but four reals (fifty cents) per thousand.Their delicate perfume filled the grand, gloomy old edifice, which was lighted by thousands of large and smallwax candles. Carpet was laid from the gate into thechurch, and when the bridal party marched in, the pipeorgan and band burst forth in one joyous strain. Thepriest, clad entirely in white vestments, advanced to thedoor to meet them, followed by two men in black robescarrying different articles, a small boy in red skirt andlace overdress carrying a long pole topped off with across.

The bride was clad in white silk, trimmed with beadedlace, with train about four yards long, dark hair andwaist dressed with orange blossoms. Over this, fallingdown to her feet in front and reaching the end of thetrain back, was a point lace veil. Magnificent diamondswere the ornaments, and in the gloved hands was a pearl-bound prayer-book. She entered a pew near the doorwith her mother – who was dressed in black lace – on oneside and her father on the other. After answering somequestions they stepped out, and the groom stood besidethe bride, with groomsman and bridemaid on either side,the latter dressed in dark green velvet, lace, and bonnet.The priest read a long while, and then, addressing thegirl first, asked her many questions, to which she replied,"Si, senor." Then he questioned the groom likewise.Afterward he handed the groom a diamond ring, whichthe latter placed on the little finger of the left hand ofthe bride. The priest put a similar ring on the ring-finger of the right hand of the groom, and a plain wedding ring on the ring-finger of the bride's right hand.Then, folding the two ringed hands together, he sprin-kled them with holy water and crossed them repeatedly.The band played "Yankee Doodle," and the bride,holding on to an embroidered band on the priest's arm,the groom doing likewise on the other side, they proceeded up to the altar, where they knelt down. Thepriest blessed them, sprinkled them with holy water, andsaid mass for them, the band playing the variations of"Yankee Doodle." A man in black robes put a lacescarf over the head of the bride and around the shoulders of the groom; over this again he placed a silverchain, symbolic of the fact that they were bound together forever – nothing could separate them.

After the priest finished mass he blessed and sprinkledthem once more. Then from a plate he took seventeengold dollars the groom had furnished and emptied theminto his hands. The groom in turn emptied them intothe hand of his bride, and she gave them to the priest asa gift to the Church and a token that they will alwayssustain, protect, and uphold it. Now the ceremony,which always lasts two to four hours, is ended, and thenewly married pair go into an adjoining room to receivethe congratulations of their friends.The marriage festivities are often kept up for a week.After that the husband claims his bride, and rightjealously does he guard her. Her life is spent in seclusion – eating, drinking, sleeping, smoking. The husband is desperately jealous and the wife is never allowedto be in the company of another man. Life to a Mexican lady in an American's view is not worthsliving.

When death takes one away the dust remains buriedfor ten years, if the husband is wealthy. At the end ofthat time the bones, all that remains in this country,are lifted, placed in a jar and taken home and the tombstone used as an ornament. "See that case?" said aMexican. "My first wife is in that, even to her fingernails, and that is her grave-stone." So it was, there inthe parlor, a dismal ornament and memento.

Mexican carelessness does not extend to the saying ofmass. A man had three daughters, and each was to inherit $3,000,000. For this reason he would not allowthem to marry. One died, and the anniversary of herdeath was celebrated in fine style. High mass was said,and a coffin arranged on a catafalque forty-four feet highrecalled the dead woman. The coffin, etc., were importedfrom Paris, and altogether the mass cost $30,000. That'sdying in high style.

Mexicans who have been to the States much prefer theAmerican style of calling on ladies, but it is not likely itwill ever be the custom – for American residents here haveadopted the Mexican style for their daughters, and mostridiculous and affected does it appear. American boys,however, have no time to waste on such manners, so theydo their love-making by letters and go back to the Statesfor their brides, leaving the American mammas to searchamong the Mexicans for ones to play the "bear."

CHAPTER XII.

JOAQUIN MILLER AND COFFIN STREET.

DEAR old Mexico shows her slippered foot, for summeris here. The fruit-trees are in blossom, the roses inbloom, the birds are plenty and everybody is wearing thewidest sombrero. From 10 o'clock until 2 the sun is intensely hot, but all one has to do is to slip into the shadeand the air is as cool as an unpaid boarding-house-keeperand fresh as a "greengo" on his first visit to the city.At night blankets are comfortable. Tourists are stillflocking to Mexico, many with business intentions, andthe United States at present is as well represented as anyother foreign country. Yankees are looked on favorablyby some of the better and more educated class of Mexicans, but others still retain their old prejudices. However, one can hardly blame them, for, barring a few, theAmerican colony is composed of what is not consideredthe better class of people at home. They have comedown here, got positions away above their standing, andconsequently feel their importance; they are more thanoffensive, they are insulting in their actions and languagetoward the natives, and endeavor to run things. Thenatives offer no objections to others coming here andmaking fortunes in their land, but they have lived theirown free and easy life and they do not propose to changeit, any more than we would change if a small body ofMexicans would settle in our country; and we wouldquickly annihilate them if they would offer us the indignities the Americans subject them to here,

I dread the return and reports of such people in theStates, for although there are good and bad here, theMexicans have never been represented correctly. Beforeleaving home I was repeatedly advised that a woman wasnot safe on the streets of Mexico; that thieves and murderers awaited one at every corner, and all the horrorsthat could be invented were poured into my timid ear.There are murders committed here, but not half so frequently as in any American city. Some stealing is done,but it is petty work; there are no wholesale robberieslike those so often perpetrated at home. The people arecourteous, but of course their courtesy differs from ours,and the women – I am sorry to say it – are safer here thanon our streets, where it is supposed everybody has the advantage of education and civilization. If one goes nearthe habitation of the poor in the suburbs, they come outand greet you like a long absent friend. They extendinvitations to make their abode your home, and offer thebest they own. Those in the city, while always politeand kind, have grown more worldly wise and careful.

The people who give the natives the worst name arethose who treat them the meanest. I have heard menwho received some kindness address the donor as thief,scoundrel, and many times worse. I have heard American women address their faithful servants as beasts andfools. One woman, who has a man-nurse so faithful thathe would sacrifice his life any moment for his littlecharge, addressed him in my presence as: "You dirtybrute, where did you stay so long?" They are very quickto appreciate a kindness and are sensitive to an insult.

Speaking of honesty they say the aquadores, or water-carriers, are the most honest fellows in the city. Theyhave a company, and if any one is even suspected ofstealing he is prohibited from selling anymore water. At intervals all over thecity are large basinsand fountains wherethey get their water.For four jars, two journeys, as they carry two jars atonce, they receive six and a quarter cents, or one real;twelve and a half cents if they carry it up-stairs. Theirdress is very different from others. They wear pantaloonsand shirt like an American and a large leather smock,which not only saves them from being wet but preventsthe jars from bruising the flesh. They all wear caps, andthe leather band of the jars is as often suspended fromthe head as from the shoulders.

Americans who come to Mexico to reside should takeout identification papers the first thing. It costs but little and saves often a lot of trouble. People when arrested have little chance to do much even if they be innocent; they are thrown into prison and allowed to remain there, without a trial, for often a year, and it issaid a Mexican prison gains nothing in comparison withLibby prison of war fame. But if a man has his identification papers he can present them and command an immediate trial, and it is given. There is an Americannow lying in prison here for shooting a Mexican woman;the woman was only shot through the arm, and yet theman has been in jail, without even a change of clothing,for over a year. He is in a deplorable state, withoutmuch hope of it being bettered. The American Consulseems to have a disposition to help his countryman. Hehas been here but a month, and his first work deservespraise. A man by the name of John Rivers, or Rodgers,shot a fellow in self-defense.

It was a clear case, but the main witnesses had nodesire to lay in jail, as the law requires, until the American's trial came up, so they fled the country. TheAmerican could speak no Spanish. His trial was poorlyconducted, and he was sentenced to be executed at Zocatagus, up the Central road. Consul Porch heard of thecase. He studied it out, found the man was not given afair trial, and hastened off, reaching the scene of execution but a short time before the hour appointed, but intime at least to postpone the tragedy. There is one greatdisadvantage Americans suffer from, and that is the government sending out ministers and consuls who have noknowledge of the language in the country to which theygo. It would be a mark of intelligence if they wouldmake a law, like that in some countries, providing that noman could represent America unless he had a completeknowledge of the foreign tongue with which he wouldhave to deal.

In my wanderings around the city I found a street onwhich there are no business houses or even pulque shops – nothing but coffin manufacturers. From one end ofthe street to the other you see in every door men andboys making and painting all kinds and sizes of coffins.The dwelling houses are old and dilapidated, and thestreet narrow and dingy. Here the men work day afterday, and never whistle, talk, or sing, as they go at theirhewing, painting and glueing, with long faces, as if theywere driving nails into their own coffins.

I soon related my discovery to Joaquin Miller, and hewent along to see it. Then he said, "Little Nell, youare a second Columbus. You have discovered a streetthat has no like in the world, and I have been over theworld twice. It's quite fine, isn't it?" and he gave ahearty laugh. Of course, there may be other streetssomewhere just the same. We could find no name forour new treasure, so we simply dubbed it "Coffin Street."I am sorry I have no picture of it to send you, so youcould see the coffins piled up to the ceiling; a little tablein the center where the workman puts on the finishingtouches, after which they are placed in rows against thebuilding, by the sad-visaged and silent workers, toawait a purchaser. Near this somber thoroughfare is another street whereevery other door is ashoe shop, the onebetween being adrinking-house.Many of the shoemakers have theirshops on the pavement, with a strawmat fastened on apole to keep off thesun. Here he sitsmaking new shoesand mending oldones until the sun goes down, when he lowers the pole, andtaking off the straw mat, furnishes a bed for himself insome corner during the night.

Wealthy Americans who have a desire to invest in landshould come to Mexico. There is surely no other placein the world where one could get so much out of a pieceof property. One end of a field can be tilled while theother is being harvested, and one can have as many cropsa year as he has energy and time to plant. There is nodoubt that anything can be cultivated here. Of course,peaches and apples are not plenty, because they only growwild. Why, even a nurseryman would fail to recognizethem in the small, scraggy, untrimmed bushes. The native fruits are fine, from the reason that they need no cultivating or trimming.If they did, Mexicowould have a faminein the fruit line.

Land in Mexico isvery cheap, and theGovernment collects atax only on what iscultivated. One sensible man, by the nameof Hale, came herefrom San Francisco afew weeks ago to buyproperty. A ministerof the Gospel, a particular friend ofHale's, is authorityfor it that Senor Halebought from the Government sixty-fivethousand square miles – larger than thewhole of England, Ibelieve – for $1,000,000.

I don't think onewould ever tire of the gayly-colored pictures Mexico isever presenting. Though in Mexico two months, I canfind something new every time I glance at the queer people. This little basket vender is but one of thousands,but we find he is the first one to wear his white shirt without tying the two sides together in a knot in front. Hemust surely have forgotten that part of his toilet, as it isthe universal style and custom among them all. Veryfew Mexicans, even among the better class, wear suspenders. They wrap themselves about the waist with abright-colored scarf, with fringed ends, and this constitutes suspenders. Many of the better class wear embroidered and ruffled shirt fronts.

The fruit venders have beautiful voices, and sing outtheir wares in such a charming manner that one is sorrywhen they disappear around the corner. They aresometimes quite picturesque with the fruit and vegetables tied up in their rebozo and baskets in their hands.Why the women have all their skirts plain behind andpleated in front I cannot say, but such is invariablythe case. The men have horrible voices when they areout selling. There never was anything to equal them.I wonder if our florists would not like to buy orchidsfrom the man who passes our door every morning withabout a hundred of them strung to a pole which is suspended from his shoulder, only two reals (twenty-fivecents) for exquisite plants, with the rare ones but littlehigher.

Mr. A. Sborigi, a Pittsburger, was in Mexico on avisit. When he landed in Vera Cruz he went into thecountry to see the place. Hearing music in a smallcabin he drew nearer and recognized familiar tunes."Wait till the clouds roll by," and Fritz's lullaby. Aman came out and invited him in, and after a short timehe said he was a colored man, that his name was Jones,and he came from Pittsburg, Pa. He is married to anIndian woman and has about twenty children, rangingall sizes. Mr. Jones is king of the villa. In one roomhe has a floor, a thing not possessed by any other inhabitant there, and his cabin is superior to all others.He is very proud of his wife and children, and has notthe least desire to return to the Smoky City. He speaksSpanish, French, and English fluently.

When Mr. Sborigi was asked for his ticket on the VeraCruz line, he jokingly handed the conductor an envelopethat he had put in his pocket at New Orleans. On itwas printed in English, "Tickets to all points of theworld." The conductor took the envelope, looked at it,punched it and returned it to the donor. Quite amused,Mr. Sborigi tried it on others, and he not only traveledthe entire distance to Mexico, but traveled on at leasthalf a dozen branch roads leading from the Vera Cruzline to beautiful towns in the country. He took thepunched envelope back to Pittsburg as a memento ofthe cheapest journey he ever took.

CHAPTER XIII.

IN MEXICAN THEATERS.

MEXICO does not know how a nation mourned for oneVirginius like McCullough; has never witnessed Barrett'sCassius and David Garrick, or been thrilled with O'Neill'sMonte Cristo; has never looked on Mary Anderson's exquisite form and cold, unsympathetic acting; has missedMargaret Mather's insipid simper and Kate Castleton'sfascinating wickedness; is wholly unconscious of LittleLotta's wondrous kick and Minnie Palmer's broadness;has never seen pretty Minnie Maddern's "In Spite ofAll," and a mother of fifty odd years successfully transformed into a child of nine – Fanchon; is in blissful ignorance of "Pinafore" and "Mikado," and yet she livesand has theaters.

The most fashionable theater in Mexico is the National.President Diaz always attends, and of course the elitefollow suit. It is well to say the president always attends, for there is little else to go to. Bull-fights,theaters, and driving are all the pleasures of Mexicanlife; the president gives no receptions or dinners, andentertains no Thursday or Saturday afternoon callers, sobefore death entered his family circle he was at thetheater almost every night.

No paid advertising is done by theaters in the papers.Once in a while they, with the exception of the National,send around bills of their coming plays, accompanied bytwo tickets. For this they get a week's advertising;cheap rates, eh? Besides this they have native artistswho select the most horrible scene to depict in watercolors on cloth and hang at the entrance; these "cartels" are changed necessarily with every play, as billboards are in the States, and some of them are mostludicrous and horrible in the extreme. The Saturday Ireached Mexico one of the theaters had on its boards aplay, the cartel of which represented the crucifixion.What the play was could not be ascertained.

Sunday is the most fashionable theater day. Everyperson who can possibly collect together enough moneygoes, from the poor, naked peon to the Spanish millionaire. On Monday all amusem*nt houses are closed andmany are only open every other day throughout the entire week; they are not at all particular about fulfillingengagements. A play may be billed for a certain nightand on arrival there the servant will politely inform youit is postponed until manana (to-morrow), and all youcan do is to go back home and await their pleasure.

The National Theater is a fine building with accommodations for 4,500 persons. The first entrance is a wideopen space faced with mammoth pillars. Going up thesteps you enter, through a heavily draped doorway, thevestibule or hall. Along the sides are racks where gentlemen and ladies deposit their wraps. The orchestra, orpit – the fashionable quarter in American theaters – isknown as the "Lunetas." The seats are straight-backed,leather-covered chairs of ancient shape and most uncomfortable style. They were evidently fashioned more fordurability than beauty, being made of very heavy, unpainted wood. Narrow passageways intersect each other,and wooden benches are placed along the seats to serve asfoot-rests. Down in front of the stage is the orchestra,flanked at either end by long benches running length wiseof the stage. Boxes, six stories in height, look out uponthe stage, and balconies circle the room. The balconiesare divided into compartments holding eight persons.Common, straight chairs, with large mirrors on the doorand walls, are the only furnishment. The "Lunetas "command seventy-five cents to $l.50; Palcos (boxes) $2a chair, and the Galeria (the sixth row of balconies)twenty-five cents.

At 8.30 the orchestra strikes up, people come in andfind their places, and about 9 o'clock the curtain goes upand silence reigns; the enthusiasm which is manifestedat bull-fights is absent here. Everything is accepted andwitnessed with an air of boredom and martyrdom that isquite pathetic. More time is spent gazing around at theaudience than at the players. Everybody carries opera-glassos, and makes good use of them.

Without doubt you would like to know how they dress;the men – who always come first, you know – wear hand-some suits, displaying immaculate shirt-front and collarthat would make Eastern dudes turn green with envy.Generally the suit is entirely black, yet some wear lightpantaloons. High silk opera-hats and a large display ofjewelry finish the handsome Spanish man.

The ladies wear full dress, always light in color – pink,blue, pea green, white, etc. – trimmed with flowers, ribbons or handsome laces. The hair is arranged artistically, and the dresses are always cut very low, displayingneck and arms such as only Mexican women possess.Very handsome combs and pins generally grace the hair.Young girls sometimes wear flowers, but it is consideredbetter taste to wear the artificial article, because the realare so cheap, and the former, unsurpassed by nature,command very high prices. A Mexican woman wouldnot be dressed without the expensive fan which she flitsbefore her face with exquisite grace. The prevailingstyle is a point lace fan, which adds beauty to the faceand, at the same time, does not hide it from beholders,for, let it be whispered, Mexican girls are fond of beinglooked at. A lady considers it the highest complimentshe can receive for a man to stare at her for a long time,and the men come quite up to the point of being extremely complimentary.

The prompter's box is fixed in front of the stage, andhis voice is not only heard continually above that of theactors, but his candle and hands are always visible, andhe often takes time to peep out and take a survey of theaudience; but the Mexicans do not notice him any morethan the footlights. A bell, which sounds as heavy as achurch bell, rings and the curtain falls. Well, it is asight! The managers farm out the drop-curtain to business men by the square. The enterprising advertiserhas painted on a piece of cloth his place of business andcurious signs. One shows a man riding a fat pig, andfrom out the man's mouth comes the word "Carne"(beef). How they make beef out of pork is unknown.Saloons take up the most prominent place. A house,bearing the sign "Pulque" had the side knocked out,displaying a barrel which filled the building from floor toroof. Cupid was astride a barrel, sipping pulque froman immense schooner, forgetting in his enjoyment hisusual occupation of softening other people's brains withlove's wine. One fat, bald-headed old fellow had goneto sleep with a generous smile on his open countenance,while from a large glass which he held in his hand thedrink was running down his coat sleeve. Another fellow,equally fat and equally bald, was gazing at a full champagne glass in drunken adoration. These are a few of thecurious inducements for people to patronize certain stores.The signs are only pinned on, and as the curtain comestumbling down they fly, work and twist in the most comical style.

Naturally the spectators would grow tired gazing atsuch a thing, so between acts the ladies visit one another,and the men rise in their seats, put on their hats, turntheir backs toward the stage, and survey the people, English fashion. They smoke their cigarettes, chat to oneanother, and discuss the women. The cow-bell ringsagain, people commence to embrace and kiss, and whenthe third bell rings, hats are off, cigarettes extinguished,and every one in place in time to see the curtain, afterbeing down for thirty minutes, rise.

Theaters close anywhere between 12.30 and threeo'clock. The audience applaud very little, unless someone is murdered artistically. If a few feel like applauding other fine points, they are quickly silenced by thethousands of hisses which issue from all quarters of thehouse, and a Mexican hiss has no equal in the world.Ladies do not applaud, never look pleased or interested,but sit like so many statues, calmly and stupidly indifferent. After the play every one who can afford it goes tosome restaurant for refreshments. Mexicans are not easily pleased with plays; and the only time they enjoythemselves is when they have a "Zarzuela" – a cross between a comic opera and a drama. Then they forget tohiss, and enter into the spirit of the play with as muchvim as an American.

Some Mexicans are quite famous as play-writers.When a new piece is ready for the boards a house isrented, and it is presented in fine style, the occasionbeing a sort of social gathering. Being invited, theother night, to attend one, I concluded to see what itwas like. The author had one of his plays translatedinto English – the name now forgotten – which has metwith great success in the States. I thought this wouldbe endurable. As I entered with some ladies an usherin full dress and white kid gloves presented each of uswith beautiful bouquets, and offering his arm to theladies, escorted the party to the box with the air andmanner of a prince. Once in the box, he gave us littleprogrammes, went out, and locked the door. Interested,I watched the people as they came in and arranged themselves comfortably. Much amused and even disconcertedwe were when we found hundreds of glasses turned ourway and held there long and steadily, as they saw wewere "greengoes," or foreigners, and with femininetimidity we thanked our lucky stars we had venturedforth without a bonnet – as no woman ever wears a hatto the theater here – so that the difference would nothave been more pronounced.

At last the curtain went up, and before the actress,who was sitting on a chair, crying, could issue one blubber, dozens of bouquets were flung at her feet. Not understanding the words the play seemed most absurd.Apparently the girl could not marry her lover becauseher mother had forbidden it, as another sister loved thesame man, and as he did not reciprocate she was dying;the dying sister appeared but once, then in a nightdress,and soon afterward screamed heartily behind the scenesand was pronounced dead by the actors. The men andwomen cried continuously all the evening, and Americansdubbed the play "The Pocket-Handkerchief." Once,when the lover told his sweetheart he was going out tofight a duel with a dude with a big eyeglass, who hadloved the dead girl, she fainted on his breast and he heldher there, staggering beneath her weight, while he delivered a fifteen-minute eulogy. As she was about twofeet taller and twice as heavy as he, the scene was mostcomical, particularly when she tried to double up to reachhis shoulder, and forgot she had fainted and moved herhands repeatedly. But smothering our American mirthwe looked on in sympathy. How it ended I cannottell, for at 2 o'clock I started for home and the players were then weeping with as much vigor as when thecurtain first rose.

The carvings and finishing of the National Theater aresuperb. It is surpassed by few in the States, but thewalls are smeared and dirty – no curtains deck the boxes,uncomfortable chairs are alone procurable, and, all inall, the house is about as filthy as one can find in Mexico.It is rumored that Sarah Bernhardt is to come to Mexiconext December with a French troupe, and as French isas common as Spanish here, she will doubtless have largehouses. It is to be hoped the managers will awaken tothe fact that the house needs a scrubbing down andfumigating before that time.

As stated before, young men do not need to keep backtheir washerwoman's money to be able to take their bestgirl to the theater. A gentlemen and lady are neverseen alone; even husband and wife, if they have nofriends, take a servant along.

Mexico supports a circus all winter. They have anamphitheater built for the purpose, and it is the bestlighted and cleanest spot in the city. It is open afternoons and evenings, except Monday. The seats are arranged theater-like – pit, boxes and balconies. Somevery good performing is done, but Spanish jokes by theclowns and very daring feats on horseback are the onlyacts which gain applause from the Mexicans. The menagerie, for which they charge twenty-five cents extra, isnot well attended, as the people can see more in themuseum for nothing, and they prefer the beasts stuffed,to being stuffed themselves or stuffing another man'spurse for the sight of a lion, monkey and striped donkey.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FLOATING GARDENS.

OF course, everybody has heard of the famous floatinggardens of Mexico, and naturally when one reaches thislovely clime their first desire is to go up to La Viga. Iwanted to visit the gardens, and with a friend, who putup a nice lunch, started out to spend the day on thewater. The sun was just peeping over the hilltops whenwe took a car marked "La Viga," and off we went. Wespent the time translating signs and looking at the queerthings to be seen. The oddest sight was the slaughtershop. The stone building looked like a fortress. Aroundthe entrance were hundreds of worn-out mules and horses,on which men were hanging meat. They had one wagon,but the meat, after rubbing the bony sides of the beasts,was just as palatable as when hauled in it. It was builtlike a chicken coop, and elevated on two large wheels.On each side of the coop and lying in a large heap on thebottom, was the meat. Astride the pile sat a half-cladfellow, and in front, on the outside, sat the "bloody"driver. Trudging along in a string of about forty weremen with baskets filled, with the refuse, from which theblood ran in little rivers, until they looked as if they hadactually bathed in gore. We were glad when our carpassed, and had no appetite for the lunch in our basket.

When the car reached its destination we alighted, andwere instantly surrounded with boatman, neatly clad insuits consisting of white linen blouse and pants. Everyone clamored for us to try his boat, and the crowd wasso dense that it was impossible to move. As there is noregular price, we had to make a bargain, so we selecteda strong, brown fellow, who, although he pressed closeup to us, had notuttered a word whilethe rest had beendwelling on themerits of theirboats. We wentwith him to theedge of the canaland looked at hislittle flat, coveredwith a tin roof.White linen keptout the sun at thesides, and pinkcalico, edged withred and greenfringe, covered theseats. The bottomwas scrubbed verywhite and the Mexican colors floatedfrom the pole at the end. We asked his price. "Sixdollars," he answered. "No," we said; "it's too much."After more debating and deliberating he set his price atone dollar, which we accepted.

Sunday is market day, and La Viga was consequentlythe prettiest sight we had yet seen in Mexico. It wascompletely filled with boats containing produce. Somewere packed full of fresh vegetables, some containedgay colored birds, which the Indians trap in the mountains and bring to market here, and others were a massof exquisite flowers. While the man piloted his boatover the glassy waters, the ever busy woman wovewreaths and made bouquets from the stock before her.Such roses! I can yet inhale their perfume, and howthey recalled kind friends at home. Daisies, honeysuckles, batchelor buttons, in variety unknown in theStates. And the poppies! Surely no other spot on earthbrings forth such a variety of shade, color, and size.They are even finer than the peonies of the States.

But this boatful has passed only to bring others, everthe same, yet always new. They look at us with a pleasant smile, and we answer their cheerful salutes with ahappy feeling. Along the banks we see people decoratingtheir straw huts with a long plant, which contains yellowand red flowers. They plait it at the top in diamondshape, and not only put it on their homes, but use it todecorate the pulque shops and stretch across streets. Themost disagreeable sight was the butcher at work. Everyhere and there along the shore are large copper kettlesfilled with boiling water. One man held a little brownpig down with his knee and cut its throat, while anotherheld a small bowl in which he caught the blood. Stillfurther up we saw the first work completed, and on sticks,put in the ground around a large charcoal fire, were thedifferent pieces roasting. The flies were as thick as bumblebees in a field of clover, and we realized for the firsttime that summer, with all its pests, as well as its glories,was on our heels.

Wash day, like everything else in the labor line here,comes on Sunday. Under the drooping willows werecrowds of men, women, and children. The men werenursing the babies and smoking the pipe of peace, whilethe women were washing their clothes. They were notdressed in the height of fashion; they were in extremefull dress – a little more so than that of the fashionablelady of the period, for none of them possess more thanone shirt, and they have no bed to go to while that isbeing washed; so they bask in the warm rays of the sun.The nude children play in the dark waters of La Vigalike so many sportive lambs on a green lawn, while theever-faithful, industrious wife and mother washes theclothes on a porous stone and dries them on the banks – happy, cheerful, and as contented as though she were aqueen.

I think I have stated before that Mexico cannot be entered except through its city gates, which are not onlyguarded by soldiers, but also a customs officer, who inspects all the things brought in by the poor peons andputs a high duty on them. A poor man and womanmay travel for days with their coops filled with chickens,pay duty on them and have but a few cents extra for allthat labor and travel. Could one blame them then ifthey were lazy and live on what nature grows for themwithout cultivation? They are not lazy, but their burden will not be lightened until this outrageous taxation,which goes to line the pockets of some individual, is removed. Even on La Viga they have the customs gate topass. The officer examines everything, and not onlycharges the price, but always takes from the load whatever he wishes gratis. In one day's collection he not onlyhas enough to run a hotel but has plenty left to sell.When a boat is packed with vegetables a long steel prongis run through them to make sure there is nothing beneath.

La Viga is from six to twelve feet deep, and aboutthirty feet wide. On either side it is lined with willowand silver maple trees. It starts from Lake Tezcuco,about eight miles from the city, forms a ring, and goesback to the same source. The floating gardens, so called,are found just above the Custom House. From the namewe naturally expected to see some kind of a garden floating on the water; but we did not. "Boatman, whereare the floating gardens?"

"There, senorita," he answered.

"What, that solid, dry land?"

"No, senorita. With your permission we will take acanoe and go in among them."

"Con mucho gusto," we replied with Harry's so-called"greaser talk," and getting into a little dugout we werepushed, at the risk of being beheaded, under a low stonebridge by our boatman, who waded in the water. Wesaluted the owners of a little castle built of cane androofed with straw and went on, impatient to see the gardens.

In blocks of fifteen by thirty feet nestle the gardenssurrounded by water and rising two feet above its surface.The ground is fertile and rich and will grow anything.Some have fruit trees, others vegetables and some looklike one bed of flowers suspended in the water. Aroundin the little canals through which we drifted, were hundreds of elegant water-lilies. Eagerly we gathered themwith a desire which seemed never to be satisfied, and evenwhen our boat was full we still clutched ones whichwere "the prettiest yet."

On some gardens were cattle and horses, sheep andpigs, all of them tied to trees to save them from fallinginto the water. The quaint little homes were some ofthe prettiest features; they were surrounded by trees andflowers, and many of them had exquisite little summerhouses, built also of cane, which commanded a view ofthe gardens. The hedges or walls were made of roses,which were all in bloom, sending forth a perfume thatwas entrancing. The gardeners water their plots everyday. On the end of a long pole they fasten a dipper,and with it they dip up water and fling it over their vegetables in quite a deft and speedy manner. No, thegardens do not float, but a visit to them fully repays onefor their disappointment in finding that they are stationary.

Undoubtedly many years ago these same gardens didreally float. History says they were built of weeds, caneand roots, and banked up with earth. The Aztecs hadnot only their gardens on them, but their little homes,and they poled them around whenever they wished. Oldage, and perhaps rheumatism, has stiffened their jointsand they are now and forever more stationary. JoaquinMiller said: "Now, Nellie, the gardens do not float,but please do not spoil the pretty belief by telling thetruth about them." But either our respect for the truthor a desire to do just the opposite to what others wish,has made us tell just what the floating gardens really are.At the very least they repay one's trouble for the journey.

As it was about the hour for breakfast, we opened ourbasket and found one dozen hard-boiled eggs, two loavesof bread, plenty of cold chicken and meat, fruit andmany other things equally good and bad for the inner tyrant, and last, but not least, a dozen bottles of beer.That is not horrible, because no one drinks water here,as it is very impure, and two or three glasses have oftenproduced fever. Of course, I could have delicatelyavoided the beer bottles (in my articles I mean), but Icould not resist relating the funny incident connectedwith them for the benefit of others. One of the partywas a strict temperance advocate, and when the bottleswere opened the beer was found to be sour, as it is amost difficult place to try to preserve bottled goods. Weimmediately refused to drink it, but the T. A. said hewould test it, so we gave him a glass, which he drained.We were amused, but courteously restrained our smiles;but as bottle after bottle was opened, and the T. A. insisted on testing each one, our mirth got the best of us,and I burst out laughing, joined heartily by the rest.We fed our boatman, and I never enjoyed anything somuch in all my life. His hearty thanks, his good appetite, his humble, thankful words between mouthfuls, didme a world of good. The sour beer which was left bythe T. A. we gave him, and it is safe to say that thebest of drinks never tasted as good as that to our poorboatman.

On the gardens they have put up wooden crosses andtied a cotton cloth to them; they are believed to be apreventive of storms visiting the land, as the wind, afterplaying with the cotton cloth, is afterward unable toblow strong enough to destroy anything. When weanchored at one of the villages, some men came downand asked us to come to their houses to eat. Each toldof the good things his wife had prepared, and one, asan inducement, said, "I have a table in my house."That, of course, is a big thing here, as not one Indian inone hundred owns a table or chair. Pulque is sold verycheap at these villages, and many of the Mexicans comeup in boats or on horseback to treat themselves. Alongeach side of La Viga are beautiful paseos, bordered bylarge shade trees. They form some of the many andmost beautiful drives in Mexico; and on Sunday thepaseos are filled with crowds of ladies and gentlemen onhorseback. It is also one of the favorite places for racing, and any one who is fond of fine riding will have achance to see it here. Two young fellows took from offthe horses the saddles and bridles, then, removing theircoats and hats, they rode a mile race on the bare horses.Large bets were made on it, and every one enjoyed theexhibition.

In the afternoon we turned our boat toward the city,followed by a boat containing a family. The father andlargest son were doing the poling, and the mother wasbathing her babes. She rubbed them with soap, andthen, leaning over the edge of the boat, doused them upand down in the water. After she had finished anddressed them in the clothes which had in the meanwhilebeen drying in the boat, she washed her face and hair,combed it with a scrub-brush, and let it hang loose overher back to dry on the way to town. When we repassedthe wash-house encountered going up, we were surprisedto see it nearly deserted and the few remaining ones donning their clean linen, getting into their canoes and paddling around the canal. When we reached Santa Anita,a village of straw mansions, we found they were celebrating an annual feast-day, and that the town was not onlycrowded with guests, but La Viga was almost impassablefor boats. On this special day it is the custom for everybody to wear wreaths of poppies. The flower-women,seated in the middle of the street, were selling them asfast as they could hand them out.

From a stand a brass band was sending forth its lovelystrains, and beneath were the people dancing. They haveno square dances or waltzes, but the dance is similar toan Irish reel – without touching one another, and merelybalancing back, forth and sideways. Pulque was flowingas freely as Niagara Falls, and for the first time we realized what "dead drunk" meant. One woman was overcome, and had been drawn out of La Viga into which shehad fallen. She lay on the bank, wet, muddy, coveredwith flies, face down on the earth, with no more life thana corpse. She was really paralyzed.

After we tired of watching them we continued ourjourney, our boatman wending his way deftly between thecrowds of others who were making their way to the feast.They all greeted us and said many pretty things, becauseI had put on a wreath. They considered I had honoredthem. Nearly every boat had one or more guitars, andthe singing and music added a finishing touch to the already beautiful and interesting scene. About 200mounted and unmounted soldiers had gone out to keepthe peace, but they entered into the spirit of the thing asmuch as the others, and doubtless would consume just asmuch pulque before midnight. Hailing a passing carriage,as we landed, we drove to our house, jotting down theday spent on La Viga as one of the most pleasant of ourdelightful sojourn in this heavenly land.

CHAPTER XV

THE CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC.

WHEN Maximilian first established his royal presence inMexico he began to do what he could toward beautifyingthis picturesque valley. The city had been rebuilt onthe old Aztec site – the lowest and worst spot in the land.Maximilian concluded to draw the city toward a betterlocality. In order to do this he selected Chapultepec asthe place for his castle, and built lovely drives runningfrom all directions to the site of his residence. Thedrives are wide, bordered with tall trees, and form oneof the prettiest features in Mexico. The most directdrive from the city is the paseo, spoken of in a formerletter as the drive for the fashionable. Maximilian intended his home should be the center of the new Mexico,and the paseo – "Boulevard of the Emperor" – was tolead to the gate of his park. From the Alameda toChapultepec the distance is 5450 yards, with a width of170 feet. The paseo contains six circular plots, whichMaximilian intended should contain statues. Strangeto say this plan is partly being executed. Some alreadycontain an equestrian statue of Charles IV., claimed tobe second only to one other in the world; a magnificentbronze statue of Columbus, and they are erecting oneto Guatemoc and one to Cortes. On either side ofthe paseo are grand old aqueducts, leaky and. moss-cov-ered, the one ending at the castle, the other goingfurther up into the mountains. One is said to be ninemiles in length. These aqueducts hold very beautifulcarved pieces and niches, every here and there, in whichare placed images of the Virgin.

Terminating the avenue rises the castle, on a rocky hillsome hundred feet high. The castle covers the entiretop and stands like a guard to the entire valley. Manyhundred years ago the King of the Aztec Indians hadthis for his favorite palace. Here he ruled, beloved byall, until the white-faced stranger invaded his land, outraged his hospitality and trust; stole his gold and jewelsand replaced them with glass beads; tore down his godsand replaced them with a new; butchered his people,and not only made him an imbecile, but caused him todie at the hands of his once loving subjects the despisedof all the people. Poor Montezuma! the wisest, bestand most honorable King of his time, after all his goodness, his striving for the light of learning, to die such adeath.

Since Montezuma wandered beneath the shades ofChapultepec – "Hill of the Grasshopper" – it has beenthe chosen resort of the successive rulers of Mexico – thetheme of poets, the dream of artists and the admirationof all beholders. A massive iron gate, guarded over bydozens of sentinels, admits you to a forest of cypresswhich excels anything on this continent. The grand oldtrees, many centuries old, are made the more beautifulby the heavy dress of gray moss which drapes the limbs.The broad carriage road, to which the sun never penetrates, and where the beautiful, shadowy twilight everrests, winds around and around until it gains the summit. The old bath of Montezuma stands a lovely ruin inthis lovely grove; above it is built an engine house for thewaterworks, which are to supply the city instead of theaqueduct. With regret we gazed on it, the only blot onthe otherwise perfect paradise, and wished that some one,with the taste of Maximilian, had interfered before thismark of progress had been decided upon.

The silvery lake, alive with geese and ducks, and bordered with lilies of the Nile and other beautiful flowers,nestles like a birdling in the heart of the greensward.The fountains play and sing their everlasting song, whilebirds of exquisite colors mingle their sweet melodies withthe tinkle of the falling waters. Plots of flowers viewith each other to put forth the most beautiful colors;all nature seems to be doing its utmost to show its gratitude for being assigned to this beautiful spot. Far backin the forest, is a smooth, level place, where moonlightpicnics are often held. The soft drapery of Spanishmoss hangs low, yet high enough not to interfere withthe headgear. Beneath its shadows one would fain forget the world. We no longer wonder at the "manana "of the natives, and can clearly see why they wish to liveas slow and as long as possible.

When Montezuma reigned supreme he was accustomedto gather together his wise men, and while sitting beneath the shade of a monstrous cypress they would discuss the topics of the day. For this reason the tree isnamed "The Tree of Montezuma." It is said to be twohundred feet high and sixty feet in circumference. Itis heavily draped with moss, and is the most magnificentmonument any king could have.

Half way up the hill is an entrance, almost hidden bymoss and other creeping foliage, which leads into a cave.The first chamber is a very large room hewn out of thesolid rock. At the opposite side is an iron door, barringthe way to the cave proper. Many different stories aretold of it. One is that the cave was here before thetime of Montezuma, and that untold wealth has beenhidden in its unexplored recesses when different tribeswent to war. Another says that when Cortes was forcedto leave he buried his ill-gotten wealth in its darkeneddepths. The less romantic story is that the subterraneansally-port, which leads down from the garden on the roofof the castle, opens into the cave; they once tried to explore it, and found within a mammoth hole. A rockthrown in was not heard to strike the bottom, and eventhe bravest feared to go further. The rocks on the hillare covered with hieroglyphics, which archaeologists havenot succeeded in translating; the brick fence around thewinding drive has passed its day of beauty, and the postsalone remain of the lamps which once lighted Maximilian's pathway.

Having obtained a ticket of admission to the castlefrom the governor of the National Palace, we took aparty of tourists with us and proceeded to investigate.When we had mounted the hill and walked through the iron gate into the yard, the uniformed sentinel called out something in Spanish, loud and long, and a drummer boy quite near beat a hasty roll. "They must think we intend to storm the castle," saidone of the ladies in evident alarm, but her fears werequieted when a young cadet came from the building andoffered to show us around. "Can you speak English?"I inquired. "No. I will find some one," he answered inSpanish, and off he went. However, we lost no timewaiting for his return, but went to the door of the castleand handed our pass to the guard. "Momento," hesaid, and he also disappeared, but only to come back accompanied by a handsome, middle-aged officer, who toldus, in broken English, our pass was good, and while theguard would take us through the castle he would get usanother escort for the rest.

The castle is being renovated for a Mexican WhiteHouse. A New York firm is to finish it at a cost of onehundred and sixty-five thousand dollars. Our disappointment increased as we roamed through room afterroom to find all mementos of Maximilian and Carlottadestroyed. Even what had been their bedchamber wasa total ruin. The only things that remain are threepoor pictures on the wall facing the garden. They hadbeen spoiled, and before many hours the last thing to recall the murdered emperor and the blighted empresswould be totally effaced. President Diaz is to move herewhen the repairs are finished; but if they are no fasterwith the work in the future than they have been in thepast, what they have begun will be old-fashioned beforethe rest is completed, and Mexico will have added two orthree more names to its list of presidents.

On top of the castle is a beautiful garden, full of rareplants and handsome trees and shrubbery. Fountainsare plenty, and statues of bronze and marble are strewnaround in profusion. The stairway is made of importedItalian marble, and the balconies of alternate blocks ofItalian and Puebla marble. The effect is superb. Thefamous sally-port leads down through the castle from thecenter of the garden. It is fenced in around the monthwith a brass railing and covered with green vines. Magnificent aquariums divide the flowers at intervals, andthe little gold and silver fish play about in the water asif life was all joy. When one looks around the beautifullandscape, the romance of the historic past fades beforethe grand reality of the present. From this majestic spotone commands a view of the entire valley – the soft, greenmeadows, the avenues of proud trees which outline thegray roads that always fade away at the foot of the chainof mountains which encircle the valley like a monstrouswall. The faint blue and purple lines of the mountainsappear small and insignificant when the gaze wanders tothose two incomparable beauties, Popocatapetl and Ixtaccihnatl. All nature seems a prayer. Grand old Popocatapetl stands with its white, snowy head at the feet ofthe White Lady. Perhaps nature has assumed this tranquilness while awaiting the old, white-headed man to saythe last sad words over that beautiful still form.

At the back of the castle is the Military Academy, orWest Point of Mexico. Three hundred cadets, with theirofficers, are housed here. The school is kept in the bestof order, and when the cadets finish their seven years'course they are well prepared for future duties. Thecadets belong to the best families and number a lot ofhandsome men. The stairway which divides, or ratherconnects, the two buildings is an odd yet pretty structure. It is built in an arch to the height of ten feet.Then starting out in opposite directions are two otherarches, which connect the buildings. These arches – thestairway, of course – have no supports whatever, and oneis almost afraid they may cave in with their weight.When they were finished some one remarked to thebuilder, "They will fall down if one man mounts them.""Bring a regiment and put on them, and I guaranteethey stand," replied the builder. This was done, andthey were found to be as firm as a mountain. They arecertainly one of the prettiest pieces of architectural workever executed.

In the library of the academy are oil paintings of thecadets who fell in defense of Chapultepec. They werehandsome young boys, and a fine marble shaft, inclosedwith an iron fence at the foot of the hill, is erected incommemoration of their heroic deed. The prettiest boyof the lot, with sunny locks and blue eyes, folded theflag, for which he was fighting, to his breast, and stoodwith a smile on his face while his enemies cut him intopieces. He was but thirteen years old. His picture occupies a prominent place, and beneath it stands the flag,dyed a dark crimson with his heart's blood. The cadetskeep those little heroes' memories green. Every morning they place wreaths of flowers on the monument asthey march on their way to the meadows below to drill.

The cadets have two queer pets, a wild pig and amonkey. The latter is their companion. He performsin the gymnasium with them, and does some wonderfulfeats. He is truly a smart, cunning little fellow, andexhibits much intelligence. He is fond of the boys, andthe boys return his affection. When they come to townon Sundays they never forget to take some sweetmeatsback for him; and he never forgets to expect the treat,and he gets very loving and confidential about that time.He hugs the returned youth, and prys into his pocketswith as much enthusiasm as though he had been absentfor months. Every cadet has a bed with his name, number, etc., on it. A combination desk and wardrobestands by the side, and in the bottom is a tin pan. At5.30 they arise, and when the order is given they takeup their tin pans and march out to the side of the building. From a large basin they take the water, and placing their pans on a stone bench many yards long theywash themselves. On Sundays they can go to bull-fights,to town to see their relatives, or do anything they wish,unless they have neglected their studies the week before,when they are kept at school for punishment. They aretaught French, Spanish, Greek, and English. They areextremely polite, and have not the least objection toflirting. Though they are short in stature they havegood forms and are splendid horsem*n. In fact, theyare the beau ideal of any girl who likes embroidered uniforms and brass buttons, topped off with that cavalierstyle no female can resist.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FEASTS OF THE GAMBLERS.

THE Mexicans, as a people, have an inordinate passion for gambling. They gamble on everything. Poor peonshave been known, when their money was gone, to takethe rags off their backs and pawn them in order to get afew cents to lose. Men possessing thousands have goneinto houses at night to be hauled away in the morning acorpse, without a dollar to pay funeral expenses. Gambling reached such a stage that the government saw itmust interfere. Consequently they prohibited all streetgambling and started lotteries, in which prizes are drawnevery other day. The main prizes range from $500 to$5,000. Crippled, blind, aged, poverty-stricken menand women are on the streets at all hours selling numbered strips of tissue paper marked "Lottery." Theseller wears a brass badge in the shape of a half-moon asproof that he or she is employed by the government. Notrouble is experienced in selling the tickets, as everybodybuys, foreigners as well as Mexicans. The tickets rangefrom twelve cents to twenty-five dollars. When thedrawing is held a printed list showing the fortunatenumbers is posted in the court. People of all nationalities and in all stages of dress crowd around the notice.Many turn away unhappy, while some few smile overtheir gains. It is said the proceeds are devoted to usefuland charitable works. The income, at any rate, must bea princely one.

Gambling houses are also run on a large scale. Theyare licensed by the government. Once every year, in themonth of February, gamblers procure a license and openhouses at Tacubaya. During these four weeks all are allowed to gamble here in any style they wish. Thischance picnic is called "the feast of the gamblers." Atthree o'clock every afternoon ladies in carriages, men onhorseback, the poor in the street cars, all bound for theone destination – Tacubaya – present a beautiful sight.From the energy displayed, the hurry to pass one another, the evident desire to get there first, one wouldthink it the first holiday they had had for years, and allwere determined to get the most out of it!

To reach the scene the tourist must take a two-miledrive along a wide road, bordered on either side with treesof luxurious growth and shade, beneath which beautiful,pure-white calla lilies and scarlet-red geraniums lift theirpretty heads in the perfect abandon of naturalness andliberty. Dotted here and there over the lovely valley aregreen fields, adobe huts, and whitewashed churches, withsuperb Chapultepec ever in view, as a crown or guardto the vast valley beneath. The gates of Chapultepec,with its sentinels and mounted guards, are passed, and ina few minutes more we are in Tucubaya.

"We will have to alight here," said our guide. "The streets are so full it is impossible to drivethrough."

Impossible to drive; it was almost impossible to walk.As we stepped from the carriage several peons, who hadcome to meet us, knelt on the ground and spread outtheir serapes before them, displaying a few silver dollars,big copper one and two cent pieces and three cards; thecards were deftly crossed, face downward, one after another, with astonishing rapidity, while the "tosser" keptsinging out some unintelligible stuff, apparently, "Whichwill you bet on?" Quickly a peon steps forward and laysa $10 bill on one card. The "tosser" shuffles again, theman wins and puts many silver dollars in his pocket. Thisexcites the watching crowd, which presses forward, andmany women and men lay down their money on certaincards, only to see it go into the pile of the "tosser."One failure does not discourage them, but they try aslong as their money lasts, for it is impossible to win.The "tosser" has one or two accomplices who win thefirst money to excite the crowd or again to increase theirwaning energy.

The "tosser" and his accomplices will follow Americans, or "greenoes," as they call us, for squares. Whenyou pause they prostrate themselves before you; the stool-pigeon always wins and tries to induce the stranger toplay – even pinches off the corner of the card, saying "Itwill win; bet on it;" "Senor, try your hand." "Senorita, you will be lucky," whispers the accomplice as hegazes at you in the most solemn manner. Wild-eyedwomen, who smell strongly of pulque, with disheveledhair and dirty clothes, beg for money to try their luck.

Each side of the street is filled with tents. In thecenter and along the houses are women squatted on theground nursing their babies and selling their wares, whichconsist of everything ugly. Some build little charcoalfires, above it suspend a flat pan, and on it fry some sortof horrible cakes and red pepper, which are sold to thegamblers. At the foot of a large tree sat an ugly, dirtywoman. From a big earthen jar by her side she dealtout pulque to the thirsty people; the jar was replenishedrepeatedly from filled pig skins. At another place tomatoes and salad were laid out in little piles on theground. A little naked babe lay asleep on a piece ofmatting, and a woman was busy at the head of another – not reading her bumps, but taking the living off the living – and she did not have to hunt hard either. Similarscenes repeated themselves until one longed for somethingnew.

The restaurants were numerous. A piece of mattingspread on the ground constituted the tables, with theexception of three old wrecks that could hardly stand.Cups of all shapes, but none whole, lay claim to beingthe only dishes in sight. Large clay jars, tin boilers,etc., were the coffee urns.

Among all the mob that gathers here, a fight is anunheard-of thing. "It is old California repeated," saidJoaquin Miller, "with the rough people left out."Rough, in a certain sense, they are, and ignorant, yet farsurpassing the same class of people in the States; theypossess a never-failing kindness and gentleness for oneanother; the police carried one woman who was paralyzedfrom pulque as tenderly as if she were their mother,while a sympathizing crowd followed; two peons supported between them a pulque victim, who was so happythat his spirits found vent in trying to sing a hiccoughsong. Another peon, only half sober, got his drunkencompanion on his back and trudged off, in a waveringmanner, for his home.

In the tents along the street a second class of peoplegamble. Some tables have painted on them threefaces – a red one, with a white and green one on eitherside – on which the men gamble. Musicians with stringinstruments furnish pleasing airs, and women in picturesque costumes do the singing and dancing. The mostpopular song is "I am a pure Mexican, no Spanish bloodin me." The people scorn the idea of Spanish blood, andboast of being of pure Indian descent.

Over the top of high walls peep the green trees, and thevines crawl over, hanging low down on the outside.Enter the vine-draped gateway and you will see a gardenas fine as any city park. A smooth walk leads to all sortsof cunning little nooks; large trees spread out their heavyarms; the perfume of thousands of beautiful flowersscents the air; playing fountains mingle their music withthe exquisite melody of the string bands placed at intervals throughout the grounds; statues glisten against thegreen foliage; well-dressed men and finely clad womenare visible on every spot – everything animate and inanimate adds to the picturesqueness of the beautifulscene.

In the buildings, which are decorated outside withpictures from happy scenes in life, are tables and chairs,the walls being hung with fine paintings and expensivemirrors. On the green table-cloth is placed $10,000 and$20,000 – the former sum on the roulette table, the latteron the card board. The money is half gold and half silver.Before the hour of playing these tables are left unguarded;people go in and out at pleasure, but all are too honorableto take one piece. Ladies and gentlemen sit or standaround, smoking their cigarettes and betting. Onewoman lost $500 in a few moments, but her face neverchanged. A man stood at a roulette table, and, commencing with $10, was in a short time the possessor of$750. He never changed countenance, and after gettingthe "pot" together he exchanged it for greenbacks andwalked off. Any one playing can order what they wishto drink at the expense of the proprietor. Fine restaurants are also run in connection with the establishment.

One gambling hall is hung with Spanish moss in theshape of a tent, which reflects in the mirrors formingthe walls. It is beautiful and reminds one forcibly ofwhat fairyland is supposed to be. Every large house hasa notice posted informing patrons that they furnish,free of charge, conveyances for the city at late hours.One man almost broke the bank and had to get a wagonto haul his money to Mexico. Others won $5000, $10,-000 and $20,000, but notwithstanding this one housemade $200,000 the first ten days. Electric lights enablethe players to keep the game up all night, and uniquetorches furnish just enough light in the gardens to showthe way and fascinate the sentimental.

Tired at last, we wandered forth and visited the beautiful old cathedral which all Mexican towns possess,walked through several plazas and examined the finefountains, flowers and monuments, and at last traveled tothe top of the hill in order to view the country aroundabout. Seated on the eight-foot bank of the militaryroad, we watched the Indians going to and from the city.First came a drove of burros walking quite briskly, as ifthey feared the load left behind might catch up and insist again on being carried. A number of womenwrapped up in a straight piece of flannel and a piece ontheir heads in the style of the peasant girl in the "Mascot," passed by. On their back were huge bundles ofwood and scrubbing-brushes. "Buenas noches, senora;buenas noches, senorita; buenas noches, senors," theycried out pleasantly as their bare feet raised enough dustto encircle them. Their black eyes gazed on us in afriendly manner and their lovely white teeth glistened ina cordial smile. "Poor human beasts of burden! Givethe little one some money," we whispered. "Here, thisis yours," he called, in Spanish, holding forth a silverdollar. The smile faded from her face. "Gracias, no,senor!" and she quickly passed on, too proud to acceptwhat in all probability was more than she ever owned.

The sun had long gone down; dark clouds draped the"White Lady;" Chapultepec looked dim and hazy.With regret we left our prominent position, passed thehandsome palaces of Escandon, Mier y Celis and Barron,walked through one of the handsomest villages in Mexico – Tacubaya – and in a few moments reached our carriage,homeward bound, leaving the "Feast of the Gamblers,"just in the height of its glory.

CHAPTER XVII.

FEAST OF FLOWERS AND LENTEN CELEBRATIONS.

IF they had put both in a kettle and, after constantstirring, poured the contents out, there would not havebeen more of a mixture of religion and amusem*nt thanthere was during Lent; to a sight-seer it looked as if thetwo forces were waging a battle to see which would predominate. It was very interesting, more so from thefact that in no other place on earth is Lent celebratedlike it is in the City of Mexico. I think I told you howthe carnival season opened, with balls, picnics, and driving in full dress on the paseo; then suddenly everythingcollapsed, and the city put on somber robes. Bells tolledforth from morning until night, and every other day wasa saint's day, when, Catholic or otherwise, we were compelled to fast; the stores closed, and everything came to astandstill. All the night previous fireworks were set off,and revolvers cracked until one's wildest wish was thattheir inventors had never been born.

One morning I was surprised to learn I could not haveany coffee – the solitary cup which constitutes our dainty,delicious breakfast here. My limited Spanish preventedmy giving vent to my feelings, and so I nursed my righteous wrath while I took observations. The whole housewas closed and darkened, the mirrors were covered withpurple cloths, and every little ornament, which hadhitherto decorated the house, was missing. All the people of the household were dressed in black, talked inwhispers, and walked around on their tiptoes. Dinnertime came and we sat down to a bit of dry toast (butteris an unheard-of thing), black coffee, chile, or red pepper, and beans. By this time I began to get "shaky,"especially as they did not talk and pulque was dispensedwith. After saying: "Some one must be dead;" "Theymust have gotten into some kind of trouble, and are trying to make believe they are away," I decided to quit"guessing," and try to find out the true cause of thesestrange doings. Finally, I decided to see if any of myMexican "bears" were visible; and, going through theparlor, I opened the window leading to the balcony.Just as I had removed all the monstrous bars, my landlady came rushing to me, with a burning candle in onehand and beads in another, and in louder tones than shehad spoken before she besought me not to open the window. Completely mystified and feeling sure they haddone some terrible deed, I closed the bars, with one longing sigh to my "bears," and. then catching her by theshoulder, asked, in trembling tones: "Tell me, whathave you done?"

"No comprehende," she ejacul*ted, looking at me asif I had lost my senses.

"Porque?" I asked, pulling her around, and pointingto the bare tables and cabinets, the draped mirrors, thebarred shutters.

"I am sad because it is my saint's day and my mother'sday," she explained, and she took me into her room,where everything was draped in somber colors. Belowthe picture of her mother were a number of burning candles placed around a large cross. Before this cross therest of the family were on their knees, and as I slippedout and closed the door I saw her sink down beside them,with a look of submission on her face. I have nothingmore to say, except that I am glad that before a similarday rolls around I shall be over the Rio Grande anddoubtless at home.

Holy week began on Piernes de Dolores (Friday ofSorrow), April 16. As early as 3.30 in the morning thebells began to toll, and people flocked to the churches.At five o'clock we started for La Viga, where this day iscelebrated by the Feast of the Flowers, or Paseo de lasFlores (Flower Promenade). Even at that hour the waywas crowded with people laden with flowers. When wereached La Viga we found it filled with canoes and boatsburdened with beautiful flowers of every description. Aafar as we could see up La Viga it was the same – picturesque people paddling their equally picturesque boats inand out and around the crowd. Some of the boats wereready for hire. They had awnings made of cane coveredwith ferns and flowers. Very few could resist their inviting appearance, and by nine o'clock there was not anempty boat to be found.

Along the fragrant, grassy banks sat flower girls surrounded by heaps of ferns, creamy lilies, delicious pinksof hundreds of shades, geraniums and fuchsias of wonderful size and color, and roses whose colors, sizes andperfumes bewildered me. Honeysuckles, roses, lilies andpoppies were woven into wreaths, which people boughtand wore on their heads and around their shoulders. Eating-stands were about as plentiful as the flowers, andeverything that was ever made in Mexico was here forsale. They did a big business, too. Gay crowds wouldsit down on the grass and take breakfast off of a strawpetate as merrily as if in the finest dining-room. Someof these booths were fixed up with canvas covers andflower sides; other long booths were fitted up in the samemanner, hung with the Mexican colors and filled withchairs, where the tired could pay a medio (six and onequarter cents) and sit down. Three bands in holidayattire sent forth lovely strains, alternately, from similarbooths; the trees on either side kept the paseo shady. Itwas filled with people riding and driving; the riders, whonumbered many ladies, formed a line in the center andthe carriages drove around and around, down one wayand up the other. Most of those out driving alightedand mingled with the masses. It was certainly a mostenjoyable scene.

At several places we found things for sale which lookedlike dahlias, with a strange mixture of colors. Nonecould determine just what they were, but presently wefound a man and woman manufacturing them. Theywere nothing more or less than long radishes, which withhis penknife the man turned into all kinds of flowers,as well as crosses and other designs. The woman delicately touched one part one color, another another, untilthey formed one of the most beautiful of the many strangesights on La Viga. There was quite a rush for them,and the happy purchasers triumphantly carried them off,while the less fortunate looked on with regret. I got anumber, but before the next morning their beauty haddeparted forever, and their perfume was loud and unmistakable. Of course there were plenty of venders andbeggars there. The venders had wax figures representing ballet dancers, rope-walkers, angels – any sort of female that was skimp in her wearing apparel. Othershad men fighting bulls, monkeys on horseback, babydolls made of rags, and every little thing which could beinvented.

This feast lasted until Sunday evening, and therewas not a moment from three o'clock Friday morning,until twelve o'clock Sunday night, but what the place wascrowded worse than Barnum's show in its brightest days.The prettiest sight was when the people returned totown. Every carriage, even to the driver's seat, was filledwith flowers. The horses and riders were decorated withwreaths, and in this manner they all returned to theirhomes. I must describe one rider to you before I leaveLa Viga. He rode a beautiful black horse. The Mexicansaddle was a bright, deep yellow, covered with silverornaments, and a bright sword dangled at the side. Thebridle was entirely of silver, even to the reins, and silvercord and tassels decorated the horse's neck. The rider'spants were black and fitted as if he had been poured intothem. A row of silver buttons, at least the size of pie-plates, reached from waist to knee, where they were metby high side-buttoned boots. An immense silver spurcompleted that part. His vest was yellow velvet, his coatblue, and his wide sombrero red, all heavily trimmed withsilver, while at the back, peeping beneath his coat, weretwo mammoth revolvers. He was the most gorgeousbutterfly I ever saw, and attracted attention from Mexicans as well as myself.

Sunday was observed by the churches as well as on LaViga. It was Palm Sunday, and the Indians had madepretty things out of dry palms which they sold to thepeople for from a real (twelve and one half cents) up tocinco pesos ($5). The devout took these to church andhad them blessed, and after carrying them home theywere fixed to the bars of windows, the balconies and abovethe doors, where they will stay for the whole year. Theysay they keep the devil out, and that is their reason forusing them.

Excursion trains were run in from all the connectingpoints, people appeared in the most gorgeous hues, andvenders had no trouble in selling the effigies they carried.Holy Thursday came and the bells tolled from earlymorning until ten o'clock, when every one was silent insorrow for the crucifixion. Mass was said in the morning, and all turned out to attend divine service. Inthe Alameda, Zocola and paseo bands, to the number ofthree or four, delighted their hearers. It seemed ratherstrange to stand within the church door and hear thevoice of the priest repeating mass, the piano playing asoft prelude (no pipe organs are permitted during holyweek), and the band mingling the lively strains of somelight opera, or something equally ridiculous, with thissolemn service, The altars were all hung with squaresof silver or gold tinsel, which were constantly in motion.Thousands of candles lighted up the gloomy building,and Christ and the Virgin were the only images in sight.At 3 o'clock in the afternoon they brought in what theysaid were the oldest and most neglected of beggars. Thepriest washed their feet, and after making the sign of thecross with holy oil upon them, they were allowed to depart. I noticed these men's feet had been washed recently, and also that there were dirtier and poorer peoplein the audience. However, the washer took good carenot to touch the feet without an intervening towel. Atnight the churches were brilliantly illuminated. It wouldbe hard to give an estimate of the candles required, butI fully believe that in some of the big edifices 20,000would not be a bad guess. The devout were all on theirknees, and everything was as silent as death, except thepiano, which still kept up its soft, soothing melody.

On Good Friday all the men and women were dressedin black, and every church was draped with purple. TheVirgin was dressed in heavy black velvet. The poorIndians laid flowers, money and candles around theimage, and they could not have been more deeplytouched had the crucifixion taken place then instead ofso many hundred years ago. They kissed her feet, hergarments, and the floor before her, and showed in athousand humble ways their love and devotion.

The ceremony of the Tres Horas (three hours) was celebrated in Texcoco. First a lot of masked men ranaround the yard with sticks, beating the bushes, treesand flowers as though in search of something. Then oneof the men who was far from representing Christ inform, feature or complexion, took a heavy wooden crosson his shoulders and walked into the church, beinglashed with a leather strap by the masked men. Whenhe fell the people covered their faces and groaned. Hefell three times before reaching the altar, where an effigywas nailed to the cross. The sounds of the hammer andgroans and cries of the people made one feel as if somebody had dropped a piece of ice down their back. Finally, amid the most heartrending cries, the cross wasraised and the ceremony was over.

All day wagons, horses, boxes, everything in the toyline, with a racket in them, were sold to the people. Allthe venders were located around the cathedral and Zocolo,and the din could be heard several squares away. Theseare called matracas. When Christ was on earth, theysay, they had no bells with which to call the people tomass, so these matracas were made, and a number of menwould promenade the streets, swinging them around tokeep up the incessant cracking. The men would cryout, "The hour has come for mass, the hour has comefor mass," and the faithful would hurry away to counttheir beads and say their prayers. A foreigner told methis custom was still in vogue in some parts of his country, France, during holy week. Hideous effigies, calledJudas, were for sale. Little ones made of lead werebought and tied to the button-hole, the parasol, thebracelet, the belt, or any other convenient place. Somemade of plaster of Paris and paper, from three inches totwelve feet long, were bought by old and young and carried home for Saturday.

Sabado de Gloria (Saturday of Glory) came bright andsunny. All along the streets were strung long Judases,some having pasted on them the thirty pieces of silverfor which he betrayed Christ; the image was made in themost horrible form – as a negro, devil, monkey, halfbeast, half human, every form that could possibly bethought of. At 11 o'clock the bells began to ring merrily, as though rejoicing over the fate of Judas, and amatch was applied to every image in the town; they wereall filled with powder, and with one accord there was auniversal bursting and tearing and rejoicing throughoutthe city. As fervent as had been their devotion to theVirgin, just as strong was their hatred of Judas – eventhe smallest scraps they tramped upon.

By 12 o'clock gay colors were resumed, carriages whichhad been rigorously kept out of sight came forth andwere flying down the paseo as if glad that the time ofquietness was past. All places of amusem*nt, which hadbeen closed during Lent, began sticking up posters announcing a grand opening on the next (Sunday) evening.The noise of the matracas grew fainter and fainter, andgradually ceased. The wind picked up the stray piecesof Judases, played with them awhile, and then carriedthem out of sight. The venders who had jammed theZocalo gradually disappeared, the music in the differentparks ceased, and Lent seemed as far gone, by the time12 o'clock rang forth, as though six months had passed.Such is life.

On Sunday the theaters, bull-fights, circus and race-courses were well attended. The bull-fights were advertised as the last of the season. The one I attended wasexcellent. The bulls were good ones, and some very newand striking features were introduced. One man satdown on a chair in the center of the ring with two banderillias in his hand. The door was opened, and the bullrushed in and at him. He sat there, and as it put downits head to gore him he stuck the banderillias into itsneck and sprung aside, while the bull knocked the chairinto atoms. Everybody cheered, and threw the fellowmoney and cigars. After this toro had been dispatched,one man lay down on the ground and another stood overhim, keeping his head between his legs. Again theyopened the door and let a toro in. It rushed for themen, but the one standing stuck the banderillias into itwith such force that it roared with pain and took afterone of the other fighters in the ring, leaving the twomen unhurt. The very daring of this delighted the people, for if the man had missed the bull both of themwould have been killed without the least trouble.

One toro had horns about four feet wide, and at thefirst plunge it killed one horse. Then it caught anotherhorse and threw it on its back, the rider underneath. Thefighters tried to draw it off, but it stayed there until thehorse was dead. All that could be seen of the rider washis head, which he tried vainly to shield with his arms.They carried him off for dead. This toro was very hardto kill. It required seven lunges of the sword to converthim into beef. One toro refused to fight, and when stuckwith a sharp pica he jumped over the fence and was withthe audience. Such a scrambling! Most of the peoplethrew themselves into the ring, about the first ones to gobeing the guards, who are placed around to take care ofthe people. It was quite a while before quiet was restored,and the toro lassoed and removed.

Bull-fights have lasted longer this season than ever before, as it is impossible to fight during the rainy season.Now a man comes forward and says he is going to coverhis ring and have fights all summer; this will make thelight in the ring dim, and the fighters will be at a disadvantage, not being able to calculate their distances. Itwill also make the fights more dangerous and more interesting. It is needless to add that the people are delighted at the prospect. Last Sunday one man got so excited over the big toro's fighting that when it was to bestabbed he got down into the ring and, taking off hishigh silk hat, asked the judge's permission to do thework. The audience rose to their feet and shouted"Yes, yes," but the judge was unkind enough to refuse,and thereby deprived us of seeing a fellow in broadclothgored because he thought he could kill a toro.

Congress is in full session now. The other day theypassed a bill which was strongly opposed. It is to the effect that any one caught meddling with the railroadswill be shot down instantly without a moment's warning,and without a trial. Doubtless many will say that it is afirst-class law when they think of the wrongs committedon the railways in Mexico. But it is such a law as willallow thousands of Mexicans whose "honor desires satisfaction" to take advantage of it. The victim is shot, andafter he is dead the shooter steps forward and swears thathe saw him meddling with the railways, or knew he haddesigns on them. This is all he has to do to be freed ofthe murder. While we believe in dealing out unmercifulpunishment to train wreckers, yet this law is fit only foruncivilized countries, and least of all for Mexico, where people shoot on the least provocation, ofttimes just foramusem*nt, or to test their unerring aim, piercing thebrain or heart every time. It is, certainly, a grand chancefor those who have a desire for revenge to obtain it andgo scot-free.

However, the law is only to be tried for one year,and if it proves good it will be adopted permanently.Now is the time for those who claim the country is ruinedby a ring to remove some of its links, especially the keyand padlock, and by doing so once again proclaim liberty,and prove to the people that the "shoot without triallaw" really did some good.

Cinco de Mayo (5th of May) was the next big day forMexico. Then they commemorated the victory over theFrench, and it is done in princely style. A Frenchpaper rather sensibly remarked that it would look betterif the Mexicans, dropped this foolishness, as the Frenchwhipped them on the 4th and again on the 6th. Somelittle government-paid sheets came out in editorials asmad as turkey gobblers at the sensible insinuation.

I for one am glad Lent and its eggs, red-pepper, andbad-smelling fish is gone. What cowards our stomachsmake of us all. I really have begun to long for home, orrather home-cooking. I have made out a list which Iview every day, and see how much longer my stomachwill have to endure this trash. Fixty-six more morningsto drink black coffee and long for even ham and eggs,with heavenly thoughts of hot cakes and butter. Fifty-six more noons to eat boiled cheese, meat stuffed withchili (red pepper), fish boiled in chili, with the fins, head,eyes, and tail still adhering, dolce (dessert) of friedpumpkin sprinkled with chili; fifty-six more suppers toeat the same bill of fare set up cold; fifty-six moreevenings to wonder why pulgras and chinches were everinvented. By the way, if it were not for their musicalnames they would surely be unendurable. There is agreat deal in a name, after all, and if I had to call themfleas and bedbugs I should take the next train for theStates. Well, I have fifty-six more nights to spend in aniron-bottomed bed and then I shall cross the Rio Grande,and try once again the pests which inflict mortals there.

CHAPTER XVIII.

GUADALUPE AND ITS ROMANTIC LEGEND.

WE went up to the Zocalo to take a car for Guadalupe.All the street cars start from this center, and on somelines trains of three to ten in number are made up, sothat they may be able to resist the bandits who sometimesattack them – at least, so the corporation claims. We determined to try a second-class car, in order to find outwhat they were like. Our party seated ourselves andwatched the crowd as they came surging in. Two bigfellows, dressed in buckskin suits and wearing broadsombreros, who sat opposite, never removed their gazefrom us. A pretty little girl and an old man who sporteda hat about two inches high in the brim, deposited them-selves on one side of us, and a black, dried-up old fellowoccupied the other.

When the car was about filled, a woman with a babyin her arms, followed by her mother and husband, camein; the women sat down facing us, while the husband,who wore a linen suit – pretty dirty, too – and carried alarge purple woolen serape, of which he seemed very proud,wedged himself in between us and the pieceof parchment on ourleft side. We were inclined to resent thisclose contact, and werebeginning to regret wehad not taken the other car, where the people are a shadecleaner, when a lot of Indian women, with babies andbundles, crowded in, and, with a sudden rush whichknocked the standing ones on to the laps of the others,we were off at a 2:40 gait. The women sat down on thefloor of the car, except one who was dressed a little better than the others. She came up to the dirty Indian bymy side and told him to get up. He was about to do soas an utterance of thanks escaped our lips, when hismother-in-law and wife commanded him to sit downagain.

This he did in all humbleness, but the woman inblack commanded him to rise, as he had no money topay his fare. His mother-in-law's ire was up, however,and she ordered him to display his wealth. He took outa handkerchief, untied the corner and displayed one silver dollar and some small change; then the old lady divedinto the bosom of her dress, and untying a similar handkerchief, displayed her worldly all. The woman in blackwas convinced she had struck the wrong man, so she satdown on the floor and related her side of the story to thepeople in her end of the car, while the mother-in-lawdealt out the same dose at the other end. The conductorcame in, and, straddling over the women on the floor,sold the tickets for six and a half cents. Another conductor followed to collect the same, and soon we reachedour destination.

Guadalupe is the holiest shrine in Mexico. It is thescene of a tradition that is never doubted for an instantby the people. In 1531 the Virgin appeared one eveningto a poor peon, Juan Diego, and told him to go to somewealthy man and say it was her will that a church bebuilt on that spot. The Indian, in a great fright, obeyedher command, but the wealthy fellow refused to putcredence in the incredulous story, so the peon returnedand told the Virgin, who was still there, of his failure.She told him to return and show his tilma (apron) asproof.

The amazed fellow did so, and the light disclosedthe picture of the Virgin painted on the apron. Still theunbeliever doubted, and the Virgin sent for the third timea bunch of fresh roses such as never before grew in thiscountry. The infidel took the flowers, and the picture ofthe Virgin fell from the heart of a rose. He was convinced, and built a large church on the spot where theVirgin appeared.

The church is a fine one, decorated with statues, paintings and gold. The silver railing weighs twenty-sixtons, and is composed of a metal composite. The churchauthorities have received numerous offers for this richrelic. Some persons desired to replace the railing withone of solid silver, but this bargain was not accepted.Diego's apron is above the altar in a frame. On it ispainted a picture of the Virgin, but, to say the very least,it was not drawn by a master hand. The bunch of roses,which, they claim, never fades, is also shown in a glassvase, and is gazed on with reverence by the believers.Some unbelievers (some people doubt everything) sayfresh roses are put in every day, but they are probablypreserved.

It is the common belief that anything asked of theVirgin of Guadalupe is granted, t have seen peoplepray with their hands outstretched, and after awhilemurmur, "Gracious, gracious!" and get up as if thefavor had been received. Women ofttimes kiss thefloor when they think they have received mercy at thehands of their dear saint. Near the door are hundredsof rude oil paintings representing scenes in which theVirgin has saved the lives of people. One man fell froma second-story window, and by murmuring the Virgin'sname escaped uninjured. Another was not crushed todeath, although his horse fell on him. One was releasedfrom prison, many from fatal sicknesses, and hundredsof canes and crutches in the corner testify to the manywho have been healed.

A little green plaza filled with tall trees, beautifulflowers, and flowing fountains, separates the church ofthe Virgin of Guadalupe from another, which, in order tohave some attraction,boasts of a well in thevestibule, which is everboiling up its muddywater. The watercures any disease, sothey say, and at anytime a crowd is foundaround its magic brimfilling jars, bottles,and pitchers to takehome, or supping fromthe copper bowl thatis chained to the ironbars that cover thewell. Very few cansuppress the look ofdisgust when they tryto swallow the vilestuff with the all-healing qualities.

Nor are these all thechurches of Guadalupe. Away up on thetop of a pile of rocks,some hundred feet in height, is the oldest church of thethree. It is quite small, and filled with quaint paintings.

At the back of it is the graveyard, where lies thebody of Santa Anna, and looking down over the brow ofthe hill the tourist can see the building where the treatyof peace was signed with the Americans in 1848. It isnow used as the barracks. At one side of the church isone of the queer monuments raised in honor of the Virgin, The Escandon family, who are believed to be worthsome $20,000,000, once had a vessel out to sea, the lossof which would have put them in bankruptcy. Therewere great storms, and the vessel had been overdue solong that everybody gave it up for lost. The Escandonswent to the church in a body and prayed to the Virgin torestore their property, and they would in return buildin her honor a stone sail. It must have been considereda big inducement, for a few days after the ship came insafe, and the stone sail stands to-day a memento of theVirgin's goodness.

Down on the other side, almost at the foot of the hill,is a grotto which, perhaps, is the only one of the kind inthe world. A poor Indian formed the rough side of thestone hill into arches, benches, cunning little summerhouses and all sorts of retreats. This alone would nothave been very attractive, so he came to town andgathered up all the pieces of china, glassware, etc., and,with a cement he had invented, covered every inch withthis stuff, fitting them neatly, smoothly and evenly together. All sorts of designs he made – the Mexican coatof arms, pea-fowls, serpents, birds, animals, scenes fromlife, Eve plucking an apple in the Garden of Eden andhanding it to Adam. The work was done so well that itnow looks like the finest mosaic, and hence it is calledthe Mosaic Grotto. Flowers, trees and vines are growinginside, and by candle light it looks like a transformationscene.

There are potteries located here where the Indiansmake all sorts of queer little things, which have someclaim to beauty, and are bought by the natives as well asforeigners. There is some talk of making a pleasure resort at the village of Papotla, the historic Noche Triste,where Cortes, when flying from the furious Aztecs, ordered a short halt, and, sitting down under an old knottedand gnarled cypress tree, wept at his failure. The treeis not a thing of beauty and has very little life remainingin it now; the top has been removed, and it has beenbadly burned on the inside by some one who had no lovefor the memory of Cortes. A large iron fence now surrounds it, and effectually blocks the destroyers or trophygatherer's hand from further vandalism. A pleasure resort might do well here, as the surrounding country isbeautiful. Between here and the city is the canal overwhich the Spanish commander, Alvarado, made his famous leap, thereby saving his life. Stories of it differ.

One says that a wet, mossy log crossed the canal, andthe Spanish, seeing this their only means of escape,tried to cross. Thecondition of the logcaused them to slip,and they were drownedin the depths below.When Alvarado cameto it and saw the fateof the others, he stuckhis spear, or halberd,into the center andsafely sprung over.Still others claim hemade the leap without the aid of an intervening log.

Another pretty storyhas been exploded.In the botanical garden at the palace theyhave the celebratedflower Tzapalilqui-Xochitl, of the Aztecs.The story runs thatthere are only three ofthe kind in the world – one at the palace,another at a differentpoint in Mexico, andthe mother plant on the mountain. At one time twotribes had a long and bloody war for the possession of it,so the story goes, but with a great deal more exaggeration. The plant is commonly called the "flower-hand," as they claim that inside is a perfect baby hand.I went to see it, and was much disappointed. Thetree grows to a good height. The leaves, heart-shape,are thick and about the color of the under part of asilver-maple leaf, except that they are very rough, whichprevents them from glistening like the maple. Thethick, wax-like, bell-shaped red blossom grows mouthupward, and inside is the so-called hand. It has fivefingers and one thumb, but looks exactly like a bird'sclaw, and not like a hand. The story ran that there arebut three in existence. Without doubt the plant is rareand there may be no more than a dozen, if that many,in the world; but I have seen in the gardens of two different gentlemen the very same tree. One of these gentlemen is in Europe, and the other bought his plantfrom him, so there was no way of learning where thetree came from.

Mexican houses are built to last centuries. It is acommon thing to see houses two hundred years old, andthey are better than many they are putting up to-day, forthey are adopting the American style of building in assmall a space as possible, the structures to stand for afew years. The house where Humboldt lived is near thecenter of the city. It is not kept as a monument to hismemory, as one would suppose when they think of theprofessed love of Mexico for him, but is occupied by aprivate family. The only thing that marks the housefrom those surrounding it is a small plate above the door,on which is inscribed: "To the memory of AlexanderHumboldt, who lived in this house in the year 1808. Inthe centennial anniversary of his birth. The Germanresidenters. September 14, 1869."

At Tacubaya, two miles from the city, there is a largetree, about one hundred and seventy feet in height. Itis green, winter and summer, and was never known toshed its leaves, which are of a peculiar oblong shape anda beautiful livid green. For the reason that it neversheds its leaves it derived the name of "the blessed tree;"the large fountain at the foot, which furnishes thewater for the poor of the village, is called "the fountainof the blessed tree," and the pulque shop and grocerystore opposite are named "the pulque shop and thebeautiful store of the blessed tree."

Mexico is the hotbed of children; the land is floodedwith them, and a small family is a thing unknown; theygreet you at every window, at every corner, on everywoman's back; they fill the carriages and the plaza: theyare like a swarm of bees around a honeysuckle – one onevery tiny flower and hundreds waiting for their chance.A man died the other day who was followed to the graveby eighty-seven sons and daughters, and had buried thirteen, more than you can count in three generations inthe States, so he was a father to the grand total of onehundred children. There is another man living in Mexico who has had two wives, and who has living forty-fivechildren. Down in a small village, out from Vera Cruz,is a father with sixty-eight children. Allowing the smallaverage of five to a family, one can see how numerousthe grandchildren would be. I am acquainted with agentleman whose mother is but thirteen-and-a half yearsolder than he, and she has eighteen more of a family.It is a blessed thing that the natives are able to live in acane hut and exist on beans and rice, else the lists ofdeaths by starvation would be something dreadfuL

CHAPTER XIX.

A DAY'S TRIP ON A STREET CAR.

AFTER being annoyed by the porter for two hours, whofeared we would miss the train, our party of two at fouro'clock in the morning started for Jalapa. Even at thisunholy hour a large crowd had gathered at the station,where they busied themselves packing their luggageaboard. Every woman had one male escort, some several.The Mexicans surveyed myself and my chaperone inamazement, but I defied their gaze and showed them thata free American girl can accommodate herself to circ*mstances without the aid of a man. The mozo who hadcarried the bothersome sachel demanded "un peso" (onedollar), which I very promptly refused, and gave him thesmallest change from my purse – twenty-five cents. Theseats run lengthwise, like in an ordinary street car, and aFrenchman sitting opposite, who witnessed our littletransaction and my very limited knowledge of Spanish,remarked: "Well, mademoiselle, you are smarter than I.A man charged me one dollar and a half just for the sameservice that one rendered you, and, although I speakSpanish, I had to pay it."

The occupants of the car were the Frenchman and hiswife, a musician, wife and sister-in-law, a Mexican andFrenchman solitaire, as they say here, and ourselves. Itwas far from daylight, so, making themselves as comfortable as possible, they all went to sleep. The Mexican women were dressed in plain black, with black veilsand very high hats; they carried little black handsachels, wore no gloves, and their finger-nails, easily ahalf-inch longer than the finger, were cut in the bird-claw shape then so fashionable. The Frenchwoman didnot look very pretty, as she slept with her mouth open.She was dressed in red silk, with red hat and veil, yellow gloves and linen duster. She was very fleshy, andhad, besides a hand sachel, a cage in which were twobrown birds dotted with red, which they informed uslater were French canaries. Her husband was about sixfeet three inches, and weighed undoubtedly three hundred pounds. The solitaire Frenchman was bald-headed,and had white side-whiskers, which stood out at rightangles to the length of one foot; his whiskers were thelargest part of him. The Mexican had a very red nose,extremely thick lips, and was rather effeminate-looking.The married Mexican looked exactly like a jolly Irishman – something very extraordinary. After I had finished this inspection by the dim light of a lamp whichhung in the center of the car, I too went to sleep, andknew no more till the train stopped at the journey's end,a few miles out from Vera Cruz.

It ended the train's journey, but not ours, for the restof the trip is made by tramway. The cars are very high,have four seats, and the rays of the sun are excluded bya tin roof and canvas sides. Six mules do the hauling,and two cars – first and second-class – are run each waydaily. They run on a regular iron track, as it was oncethe intention to run steam cars here. A great deal offreight is hauled in this manner. The village surrounding this station is entirely composed of straw huts. Wewere soon seated in the tram car, our number increasedby the guardsmen, who, as the old saying goes, werearmed to the teeth. A bell rang, and off we started witha rush, the second-class car keeping close to us. Ourhappiness would have been supreme had not the driverlashed his mules continually. The scenery was fine. Thetall, graceful palms, the cocoa trees, the thousands uponthousands of beautiful orchids and wild flowers, themany-colored birds, some piping heavenly strains, otherstaking their morning bath in the running stream whichcrept along the wayside with a dreamy murmur; the delightfully fragrant, balmy air, everything seemed to lendits aid to make the scene one of indescribable loveliness.It was interesting to note the homes and home life ofthe natives in this rural spot; their straw houses are builtsimply by setting trees for corner posts and sticking thecane into the ground around them. The roof, of cane,grass, or palm leaves, always runs up to a high peak.Generally every house has a porch and more rooms thanone, but never any other floor than the ground. Sometimes they exhibit good taste in building and one housewill have several rooms, two or more porches and prettypeaks and curves which one would think impossible tomake of cane; the furniture does not cost much, it consists entirely of petates; they furnish the tables, thebeds, the chairs, and, suspended by a rope, make a comfortable swinging cradle for the babies. This usefulpiece of furniture is nothing more or less than a mat,woven by themselves in plain or colored straw; these people, no difference how poor, own burros, dogs, chickens,pigs, and other domestic animals, which do not occupyoutside or separate houses, but live, sleep, and eat rightin among them. A pig is as much at home in thekitchen or parlor as in a mud puddle. It is no uncommon sight to see sleeping children bound on one sideby a pig, on the other by a sheep, and at their feet eithera dog or a goat.

Dinner was secured at an inn situated midway on theline. The landlord taxed each passenger one dollar forthe frugal repast, and even then did not seem satisfied.The rays of the sun were beating fiercely down when thetravelers again boarded the tram car. One woman tookfrom her sachel a cross and prayer book, and read herself to sleep. The other Mexican girl leaned her headon the back of the seat and went to sleep. The bigFrenchwoman turned her back to the side of the car andputting her knees up on the seat she, too, went to sleep.Her husband by this time was nodding slowly and soothingly, while the other Frenchman was trying to ticklehim by running a straw down his back, but at length hetired of efforts unrewarded and sat down and went tosleep. When I looked at the two Mexicans they wereasleep, one with a half-smoked cigarette in his mouth.The driver had tied the lines around the brake lock andwas in the midst of the land of nod. Even the twoholders of defensive weapons, who were there to guardus from all sorts of imaginary evils, were so sound asleepthat a cannon shot would not wake them. Even the littlebirds had tucked their heads carefully under their wingsand, maybe, were dreaming. It was all so comical thatI glanced at my little mother to find she was bravely trying to resist the sleepy god. She gave me a drowsy,sympathetic smile, while I buried my face in my lightshawl and laughed just like I used to do in church whenI would see anything funny, and my laughter was just ashearty and hard to control. The mules had long agogone to sleep, but still managed to move slightly. Thesituation was too overpowering, and I must confess thatafter putting myself into as small a knot as possible Ideposited my entire body on the seat and soon wentsound asleep.

When I opened my eyes I found all the rest awake andthe married Mexican preparing to shoot birds. Thedriver was certainly the most obliging fellow in the world.When anything was shot he stopped the car and waiteduntil the other got off and procured his game. The Mexican shot at everything which was living, except the treesand flowers, but he got off for nothing but squirrels, andthe heartlessness of it made us wish they had a humanesociety here, for many of the poor birds were disabled,and the thought that they must live on in pain for manydays was not a pleasant one.

Our route lay over the old diligence road that connected Mexico with the end of the world. Cortes, theFrench and the Americans all traveled over it. Wecrossed the old national bridge and saw the ruins of oneof the forts built by Cortes. When the Mexican tired ofhis killing sport the three ladies joined him in a game ofcards, which the passengers and driver watched with absorbing interest, while the mules resumed their nap. Iwas bored beyond endurance by the listlessness of thecompany, and was not sorry when their attention was attracted by a cart drawn by four oxen, which was descending a high hill in the distance.

The cards were put aside, and they began to talk aboutthe hacienda, which was clearly in view, and the beautiful mansion, cathedral, and numerous homes for the laborers, which held a commanding position on top of thesame high hill down which the cart was coming. Whenwe reached the brow of the hill, by looking back, wecould see a white streak which separated sky and earth,and were told it was the sea at Vera Cruz, sixty milesaway. The cart stopped at this point, where the motivepower was renewed by fresh mules, and its passengers – three women – kissed and hugged the trio of Mexicans inour party. The hacienda, owned by our fellow travelers,once belonged to Santa Anna. When we resumed thejourney it was drawing on toward evening, and I beganto view the beautiful surroundings with but a lazy interest; the queer fences, built of mud and topped with cactus plant, and hedges formed of beautiful palms, fifty orone hundred years old, commanded but a passing glance.Pretty little homes, lovely gardens and sugar factorieshad ceased to be of interest, so we settled down to restuntil the Frenchman stretched out his arm and ejacul*ted "Jalapa!"

In a moment all weariness vanished, and we were freshas in the morning. I wish I could show you Jalapa justas I saw it then. It nestled down in the valley like akitten in a cushioned basket. The white houses gleamedlike silver through the green trees, while the surrounding mountains were enveloped in a light bluish mistwhich grew black as the distance increased. The sunhad just slipped behind one, leaving its golden trail, theblack and white clouds, the misty mountains all mixedin one harmonious mass. We entered the town with arush, the driver blowing his tin horn to warn the inhabitants of our arrival. A large crowd had collected at thestation, but only two hotel runners were there to botherus, and as all the other passengers were citizens theyclung to us faithfully. The Frenchman said he would gowith us to the hotel and make all arrangements. Hetook us to what he thought was the best, and asked thewoman the price. "One dollar and fifty cents a day,"she said, and as we were satisfied he bade us good-bye, andleft us to the tender mercies of the Mexicans. The hotelwas certainly very clean and nice. In the courtyard weretrees and flowers. A porch paved with brick tile surrounded this, and was hung at every available space withbird cages. The building, only one-story, was paintedwhite, with trimmings of blue. The overhanging roofwas down low, and the rafters, which are never hidden,were painted a light blue. The supper was undoubtedlythe best we had eaten in Mexico, and it immediately puta warm place in our heart for the little superintendent,who lived awhile in the States and there learned to cook.

Jalapa is at present the capital of the State of VeraCruz; the capital business is very different here fromwhat it is in the States; there, once a capital, always acapital; here, every new Governor locates the capitalwhere it best suits his convenience, if that should be inthe forest. Orizaba and Vera Cruz have both served repeated terms, but Jalapa made a successful run and gotin at the last convention. It is a very old town, and notonly noted for the beauty of its women, who possess lighthair and eyes, and beautiful complexions, but for thebeauty of its location. It is known as the flower gardenof Mexico, and the old familiar saying was, "See Jalapaand die," as it was supposed to contain everything worthseeing; but at present it is simply a beautiful, sleepyparadise, reminding one of a pretty child in death – quietand still, almost buried in a wealth of flowers; the government buildings and churches are very fine, but the housesare only one story; they are built with low, red-tiled,overhanging roofs, and are tastily painted. Some pinkhouses have light-blue overhangers and vice versa, whilewhite houses have blue or pink, and the yellow have blue,pink, and white trimmings. Every street is very irregular, narrow in some places, wide in others, and ascrooked as the path of a sinner. One can walk for aday and imagine they are on the same street all the time,or on a different one every thirty feet, just as fancydictates.

One would willingly spend a lifetime on this "spot ofearth let down from heaven," as the Mexicans speak ofit. Away over hills and ravines can be seen the greatCofre de Perote, thirteen thousand five hundred and fifty-two feet high. A great mass of white porphyry, in theshape of a chest, gleams from its dark side. From thisit derived its name, "Cofre." Still above all, as thoughendeavoring to reach heaven, is the snowy peak of Orizaba. The former is within a day's travel from the town,and well deserves a visit. To the northeast, thirty milesdistant, is the lovely village of Misantla, noted for itsbeautiful scenery and Aztec temple and pyramid. A little further north is another pyramid, the finest and oldest in Mexico. Jilatepec is only seven miles away. It isa lovely Indian village, peculiarly situated at the bottomof a deep valley. Several foreign families are located atthe flower town of Cuatepec, owners of some of its far-famed coffee plantations.

Jalapa has a population of 12,400, and an elevation of4,335 feet. The climate is cool, the soil fertile, and thetown never visited by contagious diseases. All aroundare plantations of coffee, tobacco, vanilla, cotton, maize,and jalapa – the well-known old medicine which was aremedy for every known ill to which flesh is heir to.Jalapa is pronounced as though it were spelled with an h,with a soft sound to the a – Halapah. There are manycotton mills around the suburbs that are well worth thetime it takes to visit them. We visited one owned byour polite French friend. The building once shelterednuns, and the garden which surrounds it shows what itmight once have been, but is now one tangled massof climbing roses, lemon, orange and coffee trees, andnumerous flowers for which I know no name. Atthe back, from a little stone turret, one can view asmooth green plain divided by a silvery stream – knownby the inappropriate name of the Dry River, while it wasnever known to go dry – which flows on to make thatponderous machinery its slave, as it turns around withalmost diabolical glee. Men and women do the work.They receive from one real to seventy-five cents a day.The machinery all comes from England.

Not far from the main Cathedral are the ruins of theConvent of San Francisco. It is easily three hundredyears old, and is of immense size. Over the door of thechapel part we could trace "Property of King Philip, ofSpain," while cut in gilt letters on a black plate, just alittle nearer the edge of the building, is the inscription,"Land of Benito Juarez." The baths are now used forthe benefit of the public, costing only six cents. Theopen swimming baths are used for horses and dogs, theformer costing three cents, the latter gratis, providingthe canine accompanies the horse. The public laundryis another place of interest. It is situated in the centerof the town, built of brick, with stationary porous stonesfor washboards. The city charges nothing for the use ofthe place.

When evening came I called my old landlady up andoffered her three dollars for the day. "No," she said, "Iwant six dollars." I was astonished, but managed – witha mixture of English and Spanish – to tell her I wouldpay no more. She went to her husband and he madeout a bill "payable by Nellie Bly for two – supper, allnight, coffee and breakfast, six dollars." I told her itwas all wrong, and added that she was bad, because Idid not know a Spanish word for cheat, but I wanted toget as near it as possible. At last I tried to drive somesense into her head, and explained that the bill for oneday for two was three dollars." "Si hay" (pronounced'see eye"), she asserted. "Well, I came last night,was here till this afternoon; one day, eh?" "No, two,"was her astonishing reply. "Well, madame, twenty-four hours is one day in the United States, and if it isn'tso here, I will start it now." I gave her three dollars;and, remembering the old adage that "he who fightsand runs away lives to light another day," and having nodesire to leave my bones in Jalapa or go to Vera Cruzwith a map drawn on my face with her finger nails, returned to my room and left her to vent her rage on herhusband or servants, as she wished. But she was notgoing to be beaten by a "gringo," so she sent for theFrenchman who brought me there. He rapped on mydoor, and asked what was wrong. I told him the oldlady was not only seeing double, but counted everythingby the second multiplication table. He laughed, andsaid she thought I was a "gringo," and she could cheatme. He soon made her see clearer, and we remained thefollowing night and had supper for seventy-five cents. Ihad learned pretty well how to make all arrangementsfirst, and proposed in the future not to drink a glass ofwater until I knew the price. I had no intention of allowing a Yankee girl to be cheated by a Mexican, manor woman.

The next morning we started on our return trip toVera Cruz. We looked forward to it with pleasure, asthe former day spent on a street car was one of the mostpleasant and unique experiences of my life. We had veryfew passengers down, the conductor, two soldiers, driver,one old woman and ourselves, and a game rooster, whocrowed at every village, and was treated with as muchconsideration as a babe would have been. At the station,just before we started, an old man who had heard usspeaking English, came up and spoke to us. He was anAmerican, but having lived in this town for forty yearshad forgotten his mother tongue. His English was aboutas good as the newsboy's who took me to his hotel inVera Cruz. The old woman was going about one hundred and twenty-five miles to see her married daughter,and she was bare-headed. This woman did not knowthere was such a thing as the United States, could notimagine what New York meant, and had never heard ofGeorge Washington, not to mention the little hatchetand the democratic cry of "If at first you don't succeed,try, try again." She made the day's trip alternatelysmoking a cigarette and reading her prayer-book. Ashort way out on the road the driver got off and pickedup a little gray bird by the roadside. On examination.I found its side was terribly lacerated by a shot, but Ibound it up with my silk handkerchief and decided tocarry it to Vera Cruz, where I would try my hand atsurgery. The day passed similar to the former one, everybody going to sleep after dinner; but the beauty of thecountry, and the novelty of a day in a street car, robbedit of all disagreeable features, and as we neared Vera CruzI not only noted this the spiciest experience of my life,but said I would not exchange it for any other in theRepublic of Mexico.

CHAPTER XX.

WHERE MAXIMILIAN'S AMERICAN COLONY LIVED.

ON opening my door one morning to leave for the railway station a man, who had evidently been waiting bythe side of the entrance, sprung forward and seized mybaggage. My first impression was that he was a robber;but I retained my screams for another occasion and decided it was a mozo who wanted to help me to the train.Remembering former experience, and wishing to profitthereby, I rushed after and caught him just at the headof the stairway. Clutching his blouse with a death grip,I yelled, "Cuanto?" "Un peso," he answered. Well,as I was a healthy American girl, and as strong as onecan be after several months' training on beans and cayenne pepper, I had no intention of giving a great, big,brown fellow $1 for carrying a five-pound sachel half asquare. I said "no" in a pretty forcible manner, andgave weight and meaning to my monosyllable by jerkingthe sachel away. He looked at me in amazement, and ashe saw I was not going to be cheated he said fifty cents.I said nothing, and, picking up the sachel, trudged downstairs. At the door he once more approached me andasked how much I would give. "Un medio" (six and aquarter cents), I replied. "Bueno," he said, and tookit at the price, while I congratulated myself on savingninety-three and three-quarter cents.

The car was full of people who, we found out afterward, composed a Spanish opera troupe. Althoughthey were not many they filled the car, and in order toget a seat we had to put down shawls, beer and wine-bottles, band-boxes, lunch-baskets, a pet dog, a greenparrot, and numerous small things. Every woman hadat least three children, which were cared for by as manynurses. Oh, what a howling, dirty, lazy mob!

The pretty little town of Cordoba lies about two milesfrom the station, and street cars, hauled by four mules,await each train and carry the passengers to the village – first-class, twelve and a half cents; the cars windthrough little streets shaded on either side by beautifulfoliage, which, every here and there, gives the touristtantalizing glimpses of the exquisite tropical gardenswithin; the street car passes the only hotel in the town – the Diligencia. It is a low, one-story structure, andlooks more like a cattle-yard than a habitation for human beings; the overhanging roof droops toward thepavement, and is within a few feet of the ground. Inside one sees a little porch on one side, which, coveredwith many trailing, curling vines, serves for the dining-room. Opposite is an office and bedroom combined,where, at the desk, sits a grizzly-haired man writing,ever writing, from morning until night's shade hides thetracing from his aged eyes.

He greets one with a weary, pathetic smile, and a faraway look in his saddened eyes, as though wondering whathas become of all the guests who used to trip in gayly,with black eyes and white teeth sparkling in evidentpleasure at reaching his hospitable board, with whom hegrasped hand, and in true Mexican style said, "My houseis yours," and that friend responded, "Your humbleservant." Poor old landlord, he has lived too long! Theadvent of civilization has rushed in upon his friends andcrushed out his trade. The noisy old diligencia has longceased to rattle except in his memory, and the modernstreet-car stops at his door once in many months to leavehim a white-faced, curious stranger, whom he greets withthat strange smile and then returns to his writing, waiting for that which is nevermore.

A man and woman came in on the same train, and thelatter offered her services to us, being able to speak thetwo languages. When we entered, the chambermaidtook my troublesome baggage and led us back to wherethe rooms formed a circle around the court. In thecenter stood a large basin where several old horses andmules – which looked like old "Rip" after his long sleep – were lazily drinking. They paused long enough tosurvey the unusual arrival. When we entered our roomthe chambermaid – who is always of the male gender inMexico – set down my baggage and demanded fifty cents.I, not feeling disposed to throw money away, decided notto pay one cent. Accordingly, I laid aside my few wordsof Spanish and spoke to him in English. "What do youwant? I don't understand," etc. At last he took twoquarters from his pockets and held them before me on hisopen palm. I calmly reached out, and, taking them, wasgoing to transfer them to my pocket when he, in greatalarm, yelled: "No, no!" and grabbing them, tied themup in the corner of his handkerchief, with great hasteand evident pleasure. It had the effect of curing him,for he immediately shook hands and left without demanding more.

Cordoba, or Cordora, was established April 26, 1617,with 17 inhabitants. It was during the time of the Viceroy Diego Fernandez de Cordoba, Marquis of Guadalcazar, and was named for him. King Philip III. ofSpain issued the charter on November 29 of the sameyear. The population to-day, composed of Mexicans, 2Germans and 1 American, is 44,000. It is built compactly. The town is clean and healthful. Nearly all thestreets are paved, but everything has a quiet, Sunday-afternoon appearance. There are no public works, butthe surrounding plantations, which mark it as one of theprettiest places in Mexico, furnish work for the populace. The Indians are cleaner and better looking thanthose around the City of Mexico, and children are not soplentiful. But one pulque shop is running, consequentlythere are less drunken people than elsewhere, yet the jailis full of prisoners. On Sunday people are permitted tovisit their friends in jail. They cannot go in, but theycan go as far as the bars and look through. The prisoners are herded like so many cattle. Their friendscarry them food. They push a small basket through thebars, and the intervening officer puts it through anotherset of bars into the hands of the fortunate receiver.Sometimes the prisoners get a few pence and are enabledto buy what they want from the venders who come thereto sell. Indeed, it is ofttimes difficult to say which moblooks the worse, the one on the inside or the visitors.

The market at present is situated on the ground aroundthe plaza, but some well-disposed Spanish gentleman isbuilding what will be one of the handsomest markethouses in Mexico. It is situated on the edge of town,and the surroundings are most pleasing. On one side isthe ruins of an old convent, famous for the goodness ofthe sisters, their exquisite needlework, their intelligenceand beauty. But time has laid his hand heavily on thestructure, and it has fallen into decay. At the backstands a high marble shaft, broken at the top, and dottedwith green cacti which have sprung forth from thelittle crevices. It has the appearance of very old age,but was erected in honor of those who fell in the fight forliberty. One of the finest gardens in Mexico bounds theother side. It is the property of the gentleman whogave the ground and is building the market house, whichalone will cost $50,000. It is a marvel of beautiful walksand cunning retreats. It seems absurd that such a spot,so fitted for love-making, should be placed in a countrywhere they don't know how to make use of it. In thecenter stands a Swiss cottage built of cane, with a stained-glass window.

A stairway, also of cane, leads to the second story, andlittle balconies surrounding the colored windows give onea lovely view of the entire valley and surrounding hills.I wish it were in my power to give some idea of the bountiful flowers which are forever opening up their prettyperfumed faces in this entrancing spot; there are thousands of roses, of all colors and shades, from the size ofa gold dollar to that of the fashionable female's hat. Onespot shows tiny flowers fit for the fairies, of wonderfulshade and mold; next would be a large, healthy, ruggedtree, which bore flowers as delicate and dainty as anyplant in existence. It reminded one of a strong fatherwith his tiny babe in his protecting arms; the handsomeavenues are perfect bowers of beauty; the little birds inthe foliage twitter softly but incessantly. It is all life,but in a subdued, gentle monotone, soft as the last lullabyover the little child who has closed its eyes and, with asmile, joined that heavenly band to which it rightly belongs.

This is the only place in Mexico where we found aman who knew enough to have the flowers separated bya green lawn. It is the universal rule here to grow anything but grass, which is considered an unsightly weed.A Spanish gentleman once took me to see the groundssurrounding a Mexican mansion. The trees, flowers,and shrubs, as well as the statuary and fountains, couldnot be excelled, but the ground was bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard, and swept as clean as a dancing floor."This place cost more than five million dollars, andthousands more yearly," explained the gentleman."You have nothing in the States to compare with it."

Cordoba supports three public schools and male andfemale academies, one theater and about thirty churches.The finest church, located next to the plaza, cost thousands of dollars. It has a marble floor and twenty altars,dressed in the finest lace, with silver and gold ornaments.The frescoing displays exquisite workmanship. Theimages are wax-clad, and quaint.

The plantations surrounding Cordoba grow oranges,pine apples, coffee, bananas, tobacco, rice, cocoanuts andpeanuts. Coffee was introduced into the West Indiesin 1714, and here in 1800. It grows best in a temperatezone, and Vera Cruz raises more than any other state inMexico. Most every variety requires protection from thesun, and will die if set out alone, so those having largegroves plant coffee in them. Others make double use oftheir fertile land by planting groves of cocoa palms withthe alternate rows of coffee trees. The leaf and bark ofa coffee tree resemble that of a black cherry. The blossom is white and wax-like, with a faint perfume, and theberries grow on a branch like gooseberries. A tree willbear three years after planting the seed, and on onebranch will have ripe and green coffee and blossoms allat the same time. When ripe it is gathered and laid onthe ground to dry, being stirred every morning to dry itequally. This whips the hull off, and it is taken to thevillage, where it sells for four cents a pound. Each hullholds two grains. One tree will live and bear, with littleor no cultivation, for eighty years. Bananas are fouryears old before they bear. The finer banana is neverseen in the States, as it will not bear shipping. The kindshipped there the people here consider unfit to eat unlesscooked, and they prepare some very dainty dishes fromthem. There are more than fifty different varieties, fromthree inches in length to three-quarters of a yard. Thesmall ones are the best. The leaves are used by the merchants for wrapping-paper, and by the Indians for thousands of different things.

Tobacco now grows in about half the states of the republic, and thrives up to an elevation of six thousandfeet. Formerly its cultivation was restricted to Orizabaand Cordoba, and a leaf of it found growing elsewhere,either accidentally or for private consumption, was, bylaw, promptly uprooted by officials appointed to watch forit. In 1820 two million pounds of it grew in this district, but now the output is greatly decreased, owing tothe heavy taxes. Sugar cane grows in all but six states,up to an elevation of six thousand feet. It requires eighteen months for crops to mature, except in warmer soil,when it takes from eight to ten months.

One remarkable thing is, that the men who own thefine gardens surrounding the village do not live nearthem, as one would suppose, but inhabit stuffy littlehouses in the midst of the town. One bachelor has onhis plantation plants from all parts of the world, overwhich he has traveled ten times. He cultivates all kindsof palms in existence, among which we noticed what isknown as the "Traveler's tree." It is a strange lookingthing, with long, flat, thick leaves growing up as thoughplanted in the center and hanging loose at the ends.The flower is beautiful, with three long petals, the uppertwo white and the under one a sky blue. It is of a waxlike stiffness. Readers of books of travel will be familiarwith the tree, it derives its name from the fact that itgrows in the desert where no water is to be found. Onthrusting a penknife into its body a clear stream of water,probably a pint and a half, will flow from one cut, andpeople traveling through the desert quench their thirstfrom this source, hence its name. The water is very cooland has a slight mineral taste, but is rather good andpleasing. It gives water freely all day, but, after the sunsets, is perfectly dry.

The bread and quinine trees are among his interestingcollection. One odd plant attracted attention. It borea round, green leaf, but wherever there is to be a blossomthe four leaves turn a pretty red and form a handsomeflower, each leaf forming a petal. The true blossom,which does not amount to much, being long and slim,like a honeysuckle, forms the stamens. It is of foreignimportation, and grows in a climbing vine, whole arborsbeing covered with it. The grounds are surrounded by ahedge of cactus, which is strong and impassable. TheYucca palm and fruit cactus grew off in a corner bythemselves. Several small streams run through thisplantation, spanned by lovely rustic bridges. In thedeep ravines are found ferns of every variety known,and on the trees a collection of orchids which, I believe,has no equal in any country. The happy owner, who isa bachelor worth about $20,000,000, lives in a little housein the center of this town, which has never been furnisheduntil last winter, but in the courtyard he has plants fromevery country in the world, for which the shipment alonecost $40,000.

Down by Cordoba I found a tribe of Indians who arenot known to many Mexicans excepting those in theirvicinity; they are called the Amatecos, and their village,which lies three miles from Cordoba, is called Amatlan;their houses, although small, are finer and handsomerthan any in the republic. Flowers, fruit, and vegetablesare cultivated by them, and all the pineapples, for whichCordoba is famous, come from their plantations; theyweave all their own clothing, and have their own priest,church, and school. Everything is a model of cleanliness, and throughout the entire village not one thingcan be found out of place; the women are about themedium height, with slim but shapely bodies; theirhands and feet are very small, and their faces of a beautiful Grecian shape; their eyes are magnificent, andtheir hair long and silky; they dress in full skirt, withan overdress made like that we see in pictures of Chinesewomen, or like vestments worn by priests of the CatholicChurch. It is constructed of cotton in the style andpattern of lace. Around the neck and ends it is beautifully embroidered in colored silk, the dresses alwaysbeing white. On the feet they wear woven slippers of apink color, and on their heads a square pink cloth longenough in the back to cover the neck, like those wornby peasant girls in comic operas; the arms are bare, covered alone with bands and ornaments; the neck is encircled with beads of all descriptions, and is also hungwith silver and gold ornaments; the ear-rings are verylarge hoops, like those introduced into the States lastfall; they never carry a baby like other tribes, but all thechildren are left religiously at home.

The men are large and strongly built, not bad-featured,and wear a very white, low-necked blouse and pantaloons, which come down one-third the distance betweenwaist and knee. They also wear many chains, ornaments, bracelets, and earrings. They are always spotlessly clean, and if they have a scratch on their body – ofwhich they get many traveling the thorny roads – they donot go outside their village until entirely healed. Theyare industrious and rich, and never leave their homesbut once a week, where they bring their marketing and sell to the Indians in Cordoba, as they are never vendersthemselves, selling always by the wholesale. Their language is different from all the others, but they also speakSpanish. The women are sweet and innocent. Theylook at one with a smile as frank as a good-humoredbaby's, and are undoubtedly the handsomest and cleanestpeople in the republic. I would not have missed themfor anything, and can now believe there are some Indianalike the writers of old painted them.

In the time of Maximilian a colony of Americans askedthe emperor for land on which to settle. He kindlygave them their own choice, and they settled at Cordoba,where they had the advantage of the tropical clime andwere secure from yellow fever. They were three hundred in number, and in a short time, with true Americanindustry, they made business brisk. Three Americanhotels were established, and the plantations were the finest and most prosperous in the land. Maximilian lookedon the little band with favor and gave them ample aidand protection. During the rebellion the liberty partymade raids on their homes, destroyed their property, andnot only made them prisoners and hurried them off toYucatan – a place from which there is no escape – butmurdered them whenever they wanted some new amusem*nt. Maximilian was powerless to help those who hadprospered under his care, and just when he was to beshot the last of the colony, who feared the liberty party,deserted their once happy homes and went to anothercountry. Only one remained, Dr. A. A. Russell, whohas been the solitary American here for twenty years.The hotels have disappeared, and the plantations, nowpossessed by Mexicans, bear no traces of their once tidyand prosperous appearance; this is the history of the firstand last American colony ever formed in Mexico, givenme by the last remaining colonist, who reminds one ofthe last chief, inconsolable and disconsolate, keepingvigil at the tombs of his people until death shall claimhim too.

CHAPTER XXI.

A MEXICAN ARCADIA.

"IF you come over here you will get a better view,"spoke a gentleman as he came from the back end of thecar hauling us from Cordoba to this place. We werenearly breaking our backs in a vain endeavor to look overa man and wife, surrounded by almost as many childrenas belonged to the old woman in the shoe, down the perpendicular side of the mountain into the deep ravine beneath. We took a survey of the speaker, of his lightwoolen suit with wide sombrero to match, his pleasant,handsome face, and mentally decided that he was notonly worth looking at, but also worth talking to. By thetime the train had passed the barranca we were in a deepconversation, quite after the manner of Americans, andalthough none of us asked any impudent questions wewere discussing marriage and women's rights.

"I think every woman should be taught some usefuloccupation," he said, "and their education should be unlimited. But the one great fault of the world is notpaying a woman what she is worth. There are fewthings in which a woman is able to sell her talents at thesame price as a man, and it is a reproach to humanitythat it is so. I have three daughters now at school.The eldest is studying to be a physician, the second hasgreat artistic ability which she is cultivating, and thethird is a good musician. In either of these vocationsthey can take their place among men and receive thesame recompense.

"I am living in Orizaba now," he continued, "andhave been hunting deer for the past few days just belowCordoba. We saw plenty, but our man and dogs did notunderstand the game, so we returned empty handed.The only thing wounded is my friend back there, whofell out of a hammock while we were away and sprainedhis ankle." As we told him Orizaba was also our destination, the next question was where did we intend to stop,and found it was the place where he lived. After he hadgiven the wounded man into the care of friends, we goton a car and soon reached our hotel. It was so daintyand nice that I cannot resist a brief description for thebenefit of those who may some day be in its locality.

It is known as the La Borda, and is near the station,as well as the best in the town. The rooms are a modelof cleanliness and neatly furnished. From the front onecan survey part of the village, and the range of mountains outlined against the sky like immense waves, eachone climbing higher, and above all the great mountain,that majestic monument which wears its snowy nightcap seventeen thousand two hundred feet above the levelof the sea. At the rear of the house, just below the dining-room windows, is a never-ceasing waterfall whichgoes to feed some mills in the vicinity. In the first glimmer of day with our wakening senses we hear its murmuring song with that of the birds. Its sound is in agentle, half-subdued manner, as though enticing thebirds to come nearer to its brink and bathe their toes andquench their thirst with its foaming waves. Near midday it gets loud and boisterous, and you seem to hear:"The day is short, improve your time," over and overwith a monotony that rather fascinates us.

Directly above this wonderful fall is a cozy little garden,cultivated by the landlady, who also deserves a word.She is a German, who accompanied her husband to thiscountry some years ago. He died and left her in a strangeland with two baby girls, whom she maintains by runningthis hotel. She is quite pretty, and speaks German andSpanish fluently, while she is studying English, and understands some now. She keeps her house, like most Germans, as clean as it can possibly be made, and endeavorsto have all her guests feel at home. The cooking is sogood and everything so comfortable that one would fainhave the little German woman and the La Borda in everytown in the republic.

Orizaba is a beautiful little valley surrounded by achain of majestic mountains. The houses are whiteand most generally of one and two stories. There are25,500 inhabitants. It was for a long time the capital of Vera Cruz. When this place was first foundedin the year 1200 by the Tlascaltacas, its original namewas Ahanializapan. which, translated, meant "Pleasurein or on the water." The people prospered and lived inpeace and happiness until the Aztec Emperor Montezumareduced them to his dominion in 1457. Still under sucha good and wise king they could not be otherwise thanhappy in this lovely garden, until Gonzalo Sandoval undertook and was successful in conquering them in 1521.But even war did not stop its progress, and in ten yearslater, in 1531, the governor gave it its present name, theValley of Orizaba. The people grew in intelligence, andwere industrious and religious. In 1534 they built theirfirst parish church, Gonzalode Olmedo, and as early as1599 had put up a building and opened their first school.Inhabitants increased rapidly, and in 1774 it took therank of town. Not satisfied yet, they built up, and thepopulation increased by birth and new settlers until in1830 it was declared to be a city.

Orizaba was for a long time capital of its state, VeraCruz, and is now the pleasure and health resort for peo-ple from all over the republic, besides being the homeof the wealthy people of Vera Cruz. No yellow fever orany of the other diseases come to this dainty valley, yettwelve doctors are holding forth and trying to gain a living in the vicinity. All are Spanish, with the exceptionof one, an Austrian, and only two speak English, one ofwhom used to write for an American paper. For the entire population there are but three baths (banos), butthe poor can go to the river which runs near by. Theonly amusem*nts are the billiard hall, bowling alley, andtwo fine theaters. One contains 272 lunetas, eighteenplateas, nineteen palcos, and one galeria. The other cost$100,000, and has a magnificent interior. It has 252lunetas, eighty balconies, three grilles, thirteen first-classand thirteen second-class palcos, and one galeria.

On the map there are recorded but eleven churches,but even from our hotel window we could count manytimes the number. Those recorded are the San Antonio,Calverio, Concordid, Las Dolores, Santa Gertrudes, SanJose de Gracia (ex-convent), San Juan de Dios, SanMaria, Tercer Orden and La Parroquis, which is thelargest and finest. It is situated in the zocalo and hashad its steeple knocked off three times by earthquakes.The latter seem to have a special grudge against this onechurch, for although they have caused the towers of manyothers to lean, they have never shaken any of themcompletely down. Orizaba must be a very naughty child – beautiful children most always are – for Dame Natureoften gives it a shaking. She is an indulgent and notvery severe mother, as little or no damage is ever done bythe correction, excepting to this one cathedral. Duringour stay the earth shivered as though struck with a chill,but the people paid no more attention to it than we doto a summer shower; not half so much, in fact, as we dowhen the mentioned shower threatens to ruin our Easterbonnet.

Two little Spanish papers of four pages, or two sheets,about 8x6 inches square, retail at twelve and a half centsand furnish the news for the inhabitants. The childrenhere should not be lacking in education, as there are tenschools for boys and six for girls; they can start at anyage, and go as long as they wish. Besides this, the government sustains a preparatory college of one hundredand fifty students, at the yearly cost of eleven thousanddollars; a high school for girls, two hundred and fifteenpupils, at two thousand eight hundred dollars, and amodel school for boys, one hundred and eighty students,at five thousand six hundred dollars. The governmentalso gives a subsidy to five adult schools of six hundreddollars. The municipality schools, four for boys, threefor girls and five for adults, cost yearly eight thousanddollars. In addition, there are twenty-nine privateschools, with an attendance of five hundred and fortygirls, six hundred and forty boys and sixteen adults; yet,with all this well-made report, there are in the Republicof Mexico two million five hundred thousand people whocannot read or write.

Orizaba has rather a big heart – they furnish a freehome for men and one for women with hospitals attached,but one don't dare mention their cleanliness or order;they are under the superintendence of the Board ofCharity. There is also a retreat for the insane, which,like ours in the States, occupies a spot free from allother habitations. The last year's report of the town'sstatistics shows that they received indirect contributions,$25,000; direct contributions, $20,000; miscellaneoussources, $4,000; municipal rights, $4,000; contributionof twenty-five per cent, to Federal district, $27,000.Pulque shops are scarce, there being only three, besidesone lithographer, one public garden, two photographers,one dentist, four established cigarette manufactories, andone lottery, for it is impossible to find a Mexican townwithout. There are no Americans in the town, exceptthose who belong to the railroad.

Many things of interest are to be seen in and aroundOrizaba. One who cares to climb can ascend the Cerrodel Berrego and view the old ruins which mark the spotwhere the Mexicans were defeated during the Frenchinvasion, June 13, 1862. A little way out is Jalapilla,where Maximilian resided a short time after the Frencharmy had gone, and where he held the famous council todetermine whether he should abdicate or not. One anda half miles south are large sugar plantations and mills.Besides, there are several waterfalls, between two andfive miles distant, noted for their beauty and strangeness; the Cascade Rincon Grande is about one mile east;the water has a fall of over fifty feet, and all around is aluxuriant growth of vegetation, which helps to makethe spot one of the prettiest in Mexico. Donn TonardoCordoba is a forty-foot fall, which disappears in a roundhole in the earth, falling to a depth that has never beenmeasured.

Another thing interesting to foreigners are the oldSpanish deeds, written on parchment during the time ofCortes. They can be seen at the register's office by giving the man in charge two reals for his trouble. OnSunday afternoon bull-fights are held in an old convent,and what was once a fine church is now the barracks fora garrison and hall for the Masonic lodge.

Many people have a fancy to climb the peak of Orizaba,which is 17,200 feet high. It requires but five hours ofa good climb to reach the summit. The last eruptionsit had were in 1545 and 1566. Several times it has beenreported smoking, but the rumors were finally, on investigation, pronounced unfounded. The well-to-do people occupy one and two-story houses with overhangingand tile roofs, while the poor class construct their mansions out of old boards, sugar cane stalks, barrel staves,pieces of matting, sun-dried bricks, and thatch themwith palm leaves and dried strips of maguey. Theirfloor is always the ground. The highest temperature inthe shade at Orizaba is 30 deg., the lowest 12 deg., butthe average is mostly 21 deg., with always an east windprevailing.

Orizaba is a delightful place for a stranger to strollabout in. We started out to see the town without guideor companion, and felt ourselves fully repaid by the manystrange and delightful things we saw.

We went to the market, which is situated on an opensquare, and examined all the curious things. The birdsespecially attracted our attention, the many varieties,colors and shapes, and the extremely low prices, someselling for a medio (6 1/4 cents), others for a real. Youngparrots were fifty cents, mocking-birds $1, and buglers, abird shaped like the mocking-bird, but lighter in color andfar superior in song, $2.50 and $3. All that restrains onefrom making a large investment is the fact that manycannot live in cages, as none know on what food they subsist, consequently they have to die. Little snow-whitedogs, with bright black eyes and hair fine as silk, aboutthree to five inches in length, sell for $2, while the famousChihuahua dog, which weighs about half a pound whenfull grown, commands from $75 to $100, since touristshave ruined the prices.

Out by the unlucky Cathedral we saw the hearse ofthe town. It is the shape of a coffin, held aloft bysprings above four wheels. It is draped with crape andplumes. Two black mules, stuck with plumes on everyavailable spot, draw it, and the driver, dressed in blackwith high hat decorated with a plume, handles the reins,perched on a small seat about four feet above the rest ofthe hearse. The coffin is slid in at the back or end likethe case in which coffins are often hermetically sealed.

Selecting a poor street, we started to make our waytoward the mountains. On it we found a row of housesnumbered in the following style: January 1, February 2,March 3, April 4, May 5, June 6, July 7, August 8. September 9, October 10, November 11, December 12. Stillfurther down we saw one called "The place of Providence," each different door designated as "The place ofProvidence A, the place of Providence B," and so onthroughout the alphabet. Next we came to a laundrywhich did not remind us in the least of those at home.The river was the tub, a porous stone the washboard,and the little bushes and green bank the clothesline. Inthis manner all the washing of the town is done. Weadmired the washwomen for quite a while as they rubbedthe clothes on the stone and then doused them up anddown in the stream.

At last we concluded to jump across and go down onthe other side, but we forgot we were women and thatthe dress of last fall was extremely narrow. We jumpedfrom one washboard to another. We landed on it allright, but we did not stay long, but slipped back intothe water, which was about three feet deep, much to ourconsternation. On our way home we stopped at theTivoli, the bath-house and the main alameda, which issituated at the foot of an immense mountain, and is saidto be one of the prettiest in the republic. The walksand drives are wide and nicely paved, a great variety oftrees furnish the shade and musical fountains are plentiful. A music stand is in the center and is occupiednightly by a good band. The water-carriers were getting their supply from one of the large basins; they werealso different from others we have seen. They have along pole across their shoulders, and suspended from eachend is a bucket containing the water, after the style ofthe milkmaids in the States. It seems strange thatthough every city has its water-carriers and that everyone in the same town carries exactly alike, yet in no twotowns do they carry in the same manner.

I cannot forget to introduce you to the pleasant gentleman we met on the train. He is Mr. A. Baker, HerBritannic Majesty's Consul at Vera Cruz. He speaksfluently fifteen different languages, and when I askedhim if he was not very proud of the fact, he replied:"Yes, until I met a waiter in a restaurant who couldspeak eighteen." He is a widower, and came here accompanied by his only son, while his three daughters areat school in Europe. The common expression made ofhim here is, that "he is good enough for an American."Now you can judge how agreeable he is. He has beenknighted three different times, and was colonel in twodifferent armies, yet he is still plain Mr. Baker. "Oh,I had ancestors," he said, jokingly, as we were discussingpeople's little vanities, "and they came over in the shipof the conquerors, also. My forefather was a cook. Oneday the bread was exhausted, and there was no way toprocure more, so the cook made some pancakes, andwaited in terror while they were taken in to his majesty.At last he got a summons to appear before him; tremblingand expecting to be beheaded, the poor fellow sank athis sovereign's feet, when, instead of a sentence to beexecuted, he heard: 'Rise, Sir Baker.' Since then thathas been the family name."

Accompanied by Mr. Baker, we started north to see awaterfall, and to take the train at the next station. Wegot in a car and went winding in between the highmountains from which the black marble is quarried until we reached a stretch of land, where we alighted andcrossed the fields until we came to that wonderful stream.The water is quite cold and mineral, and as clear ascrystal, one being able to see the bottom at the depth oftwenty feet as though there was no water intervening.Down where the water was more shallow were severalhorses fishing for the grass that grows in the bottom;they thrust in their heads until their eyes were in the water, and then pulled out a mouthful of grass; they madea beautiful picture. Baths are situated here, and treesgrow around just plentiful enough to be pretty. Footlogs span the stream, and the cool, green, velvety plotsinvite a longer stay.

On one foot log we discovered what appeared to bewalking leaves, as the green leaves glided along, movedby an unseen power. Investigation proved them to bean army of ants, each one carrying a leaf on its backwhich looked like a little sail. On the edge of the bank,half in the water, half out, lay a branch of willow. Theselittle things climbed, it, risking life and limb, and, cutting off a leaf, hoisted it on their backs and marchedeasily a quarter of a mile to their home. They had apath of road about five inches wide made along the grassall the distance. The street cleaners must be faithful,as it was as clean as could be, shaded on either side bythe grass, without one blade in their way. They crossedthe foot log and disappeared in a hole at the other end.We wondered what they were making inside with thosemany leaves. They were so interesting at their work thatit was with reluctance we left them. Boarding our train,with much regret, we were soon lost to sight of the Valley of Orizaba and were once more on our way to a newand strange city.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE WONDERS OF PUEBLA.

IF the innocent-looking tourists believed all that is toldthem here they would conclude that every spot and townof interest had been built by the Virgin and the angels.One night many, many years ago, so the story runs, onegood priest, who was known by the name of Motolinia,which means humble, mean, lowly, had a vision. Anumber of sweet angels – all of the feminine gender – draped with some soft, thin material, with long, silkyblack hair that fell to their feet in heavy folds, andsparkling black eyes, took the good father in their armsand bore him through the air to a spot not far distant fromhis little hut. After setting up a stone cross, which, attheir petition, apparently descended from the skies, theyhelped him to build churches, houses, factories, and bull-rings (perhaps). It took seven days and the same number of nights to build the world, but the city of Pueblawas built in a few moments. Probably the fatigue fromwork or the unusual company made the good man tiredand drowsy, so he fell asleep, as sweetly as a babe, fannedby the wings of the heavenly beings around him. Wakingfrom a most refreshing nap, in which he had dreamed ofhoney, golden crowns, feathered wings, and regiments ofbeautiful creatures, he found to his surprise that he wasonce again in his little bed, with no angels in sight."They hare gone out to complete the work, while I,lazy creature, slept," thought the good father, and goingto the window he flung it open. He saw the green plainundisturbed.

At first he was surprised and disappointed, and had hebeen a dyspeptic all would have ended there, and thisstory would not have to be told; but, like a good andfaithful believer, he worked out a solution of the strangevision, which was that the angels had appeared to showthey wanted the work done and how, but he must accomplish it himself. To prove beyond doubt their visit,the stone cross was left standing where their angelichands had placed it. So encouraged, and with greatfaith, he related his vision to the people, and with theiraid began to build the city of Puebla around the stonecross, leaving more than a square vacant where it stood.This was three hundred and fifty-five years ago, on the16th of April. The square is now used for the city market, and the stone cross, revered and respected, is standing in the courtyard of what was the convent of SantoDomingo, but now a church, where at the same placethey will take from the altar and show you a coat whichwas once worn by a very holy monk, and for some goodact the Virgin stamped her picture on the sleeve of it.It is very interesting to look at, even if one be so unfortunate as to possess but little faith; the most interestingthing in Puebla is its churches. Every one has somewonderful tale attached.

Puebla was named in honor of its first visitors, Pueblade los Angles (Town of the Angels), but it is very seldomspoken of except as Puebla. The corner-stone of thefirst church was laid in 1531, and that of the first cathedral in 1536. Both of these buildings have disappeared,as they were originally, though it is proven that part ofthe former is the present Sagrario, covered with parasitesand in almost utter ruins. The present cathedral wasfinished in 1649, and is one of the finest and most expensive in Mexico. One of its towers alone cost $100,000.The high altar, composed of Mexican marble and onyx,is one of the finest ever constructed. It is said to havecost $200,000. This altar, before the reform, was loadedwith gold, silver, and jewels. The bishops' sepulcher isbeneath. A beautiful carving in ivory of the Virgin,which was completed after three years' hard labor, anda wonderful curtain, which was a present from the Kingof Spain, as well as the dungeons beneath, are a few ofthe things worth seeing. It has eighteen bells. Thelargest weighs nine tons.

The Chapel of Conquistadora contains an image of theSenora de los Remedios, which was presented by Cortesto the Hascallan, Don Axotecatl Cocomitzin, for his goodhelp and friendship during the time of the bitter warwith the other natives. Upon the main altar lie the remains of the man who first introduced oxen into Mexico,and who for many years was the means of passage andcommunication between Mexico and Vera Cruz. Hisname was Sebastian de Aparicio. He was born in 1502,and died, after living a good and useful life, in 1600. Atthe Dominican Monastery they showed half the handkerchief on which the Virgin wept and wiped her eyes at thefoot of the cross. The people claim that San Jose protects their town from lightning, so they built a churchnamed in his honor, and have in it a strange image carvedfrom what was a lightning-riven tree. Another beautifulchurch has a picture of a saint which has been heard tospeak. Still another contains thorns from the crown ofChrist. Nearly every two squares boasts a church, andevery church has some wonderful history connected withit. The Church of San Francisco, which was foundedby the good priest, Motolinia, the father of Puebla, wasestablished a short time after the city, and is worth seeing, if from nothing else than an architectural point ofview. The choir is the most wonderful thing in existence. It is flat and looks as though it would tumble downevery moment; even the man who built it fled for fear it would fall, when taking out the supporting beams, and kill them all. The monks then decided to burn themdown, and then if the choir fell no one would be hurt. Well, they burned and crumbled down, but the choirstill remained firm, and does to this day, after at leasttwo hundred and fifty years of constant use.

Puebla is fully seventy miles from the City of Mexicoand is the capital of the state of the same name. It isone of the cleanest and prettiest towns in the republic,and has at the least 80,000 inhabitants. It is full of interesting historical events. Cortes located here; Generalde Zaragoza won a victory over the French here on the 5th of May, 1862, and General Diaz, now President, wona more brilliant victory and gained greater fame for himself here in the war five years later, April 2, 1867. Bothevents are celebrated in fine style every year. Puebla isnot situated on the main line of the Vera Cruz line, but connects with a narrow gauge which runs to Apizaco,twenty-nine miles distant. It takes from 4:40 to 6:10 tomake the trip, but one forgets the length of time by looking at the beautiful valley which surrounds them. When we were out a short distance, by looking back over theway we traveled, we saw between two large hills, surrounded by trees, flowers and rocks, the Cascade delMolino de San Diego, showing just over the top of the falling waters a fine old stone mill inclosed with a varietyof different green trees, all of which seem to be springing out of the waters whose fall faces us. Next we passthe pretty little village of Santa Ana, interesting not only because it is named in honor of the old warrior, but forits people and the many odd things which they make sodeftly and sell to passing tourists, Mexican drinks and ice cream, called agua a nieve (snow water), made simplyby pouring sweetened and flavored milk over snow which is brought down from the Volcano Popocatapetl and the White Lady.

Between here and our destination we can see by the door of every little hut a large clay object shaped somewhat like an urn, taller even than the houses; they are, translated into English, "Keepers," and hold the waterused by the people; they have no wells, as they carrytheir supply from a river many miles away, hemmed in on either side by a deep bluff. Although water is veryscarce in the majority of places in Mexico, this is theonly spot where one finds the keepers. Another townand we enter the city of Puebla, as it nestles down between a chain of mountains like a kitten in the sun.With a view from some high tower, it looks like a flowergarden, dotted here and there with picturesque houses.On the west is Popocatapetl and Ixtaelhuatl, sendingdown an ever-cool and invigorating breeze, which playswith their snowy robes, and then descends into thegreen valley to salute the hot brows of mortals therewith a kiss of health and happiness.

The coat of arms was given to Puebla by Charles V. ofSpain, in July, 1538. Of the inhabitants thirty thousand seven hundred are men and thirty-seven thousandeight hundred and thirty women, besides more than thirteen thousand people who work in public establishments,which number in all about one hundred. There are paper, cotton, flour and wax taper mills. The people arevery religious, and fall on their knees when the bishop'scarriage passes, even if it is unoccupied. They haveplenty of policemen at night, though nearly everybodyhas retired by 10 o'clock, and not only are they on thestreets, but on the housetops. We saw the little redlanterns blazing forth from almost every other house, andbeing of an inquisitive turn we made inquiries and learnedthe above facts. They look very odd, and on a darknight one can see nothing but the red light gleamingforth like a danger signal. The policemen are all wellarmed, but it strikes an American that the lanterns aredisplayed so that their owners cannot accidentally gethurt. The city supports several free hospitals; the finestone was established a few years since, and is the bestbuilding of the kind in Mexico. Three days after thedeath of Luis Rharo, a bachelor of considerable wealth,they found in his Bible a will leaving one hundred thousand dollars to build this home and one hundred thousand dollars to be invested and used to maintain thesame.

The three men named as executors – Clemente Lopez,A. P. Marin, and V. Gutiores – were all wealthy, butwere to receive for managing and looking after the home,$15,000 apiece; the building alone was to cost $40,000,and after it was finished the contractor, E. Tatnans,would accept no pay and allowed the price to go backinto the original sum. The building is marble, the floormarble tile, the decorations carved onyx, and this palatial mansion is to-day the home of hundreds of poverty-stricken and deserted mothers and babies. When Mexico feels charitably inclined she does it on a grandscale – no half-way business, like in many places in theStates.

The houses here are generally two-story, with flatroofs, and fronts inlaid with highly glazed tile or elsegaudily painted. All the windows facing the street haveiron balconies, and all the courts are filled with flowers,birds and fountains. There were once seventy-twochurches, nine monasteries and thirty nunneries, but thelatter have been abolished, and, with, the exception of ahalf dozen, they are used as churches. One is a roundhouse for the engines, another formed the theater for thebull ring. There are but two small Protestant churches,which are not well attended. Since the rebellion therehave been established 1800 schools, with an attendanceof only 36,000 children. The College of Medicine andAcademy of Arts and Science are maintained at the expense of the town, free to all who care to go.

The famous pyramid of Cholula is but eight miles fromthe city. Street cars run out about four times a day andcharge fifty cents, first-class, a trip. On the way wepassed a large rock which has caused a sensation lately.It is about two hundred feet high and at the very leastsix hundred feet around the base. It looks very strangelying on an otherwise level green space for acres around.The stone is covered with parasitical orchids and fernsand has been known to the oldest natives by the name ofCascomate. No one ever thought much about it exceptto wonder how such an immense rock got into an otherwise rockless spot. Some advanced the opinion that ithad been thrown there during one of the eruptions ofPopocatapeti, when it merited the name of "the smokingmountain." A German who spends much of his timesearching for the queer in Mexico thought one morningas he was taking a walk, about ten days ago, that hewould climb to the top of this rock and take a view ofthe valley. The ascent was very difficult, but he per-severed and on reaching the top was surprised to find abig opening yawning at his feet. The stench comingfrom it was very strong, so lighting his strongest cigar,he began to investigate. The opening was about fiftyfeet in circumference, and easily the same depth. At thebottom were lying several skeletons. He quickly returnedto town and reported his discovery, but so far no investigations have been made. One man who was talking overit said: "Please do not put it in your paper, becauseMexico has a nasty name for foreigners now. Thatstone," he continued, "was used by duelists to hide theirvictim's body, and when the people perceived a stenchthey reported it to the police, who always investigatedand had the body buried."

"If that is true, why is it that everybody considers thefind new and startling, and no one has come forth to sayhe knows what use it was put to before this? If the police investigated and took out the bodies, why did theynot have the hole filled up, and why are there so manyskeletons in it at the present day?"

He did not try to answer these questions, but onlybegged our silence.

Cholula retains little of its old-time grandeur. Atthe commencement of the sixteenth century Cortes compared it to the largest cities of Spain, but with thegrowth of Puebla it has diminished, until the presentday it is but a small village. Its streets are broad andunpaved, the houses one story with flat roofs, and thereis little to attract one – although they have some fewmanufacturers – except the world-famous pyramid andsome of the old churches. One of these churches wasformerly a fortification built by Cortes. It is a fine,massive stone building of immense size. Perfect cannonof medium size answer for water-spouts on the roof. Inthe door of the main entrance there are 375 nails, no twoof which are alike. When the building was being erectedthere were many skilled blacksmiths in the vicinity.Each was desirous of showing his skill, so with chiseland hammer they made these long nails and presentedthem to the conqueror, making the door one of thestrange things of Mexico.

In another church near here, also erected at the command of Cortes, is a black velvet altar cloth, with saintsembroidered in gold all over it. The workmanship isexquisite, and some of the likenesses perfect. There isalso a black velvet vestment embroidered in the samemanner, which is only for use in holy week. They wereboth a present from Charles V., of Spain. The Bishopof Mexico has been anxious to obtain possession of them,and has repeatedly offered $3500 for the two pieces, butthey refuse to sell at that price. This church is knownas the Royal Chapel. Its architecture is very pretty, yetextremely odd. Every way one counts across the chapelgives seven arches – lengthwise, crosswise, cornerwise,etc., the end is always the same – seven. In the centerof this queer construction is a pure well, the waters ofwhich are noted for their coolness, healing qualities andlove charms. One strange fact about this church is thatthe morning following its dedication it fell to the groundcompletely demolished, but was immediately rebuilt. Inthis vicinity there are no less than twenty-nine churches,which can be counted, nestling within a very small space,from the pyramid, which is left for another chapter.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE PYRAMID OF CHOLULA.

THE pyramid of Cholula is very disappointing to anyone who has seen illustrations of it in histories ofMexico; there it is represented as a mass of steps, growing narrower as they reach the top. At present it lookslike many of the other queerly-shaped hills which onesees so frequently in Mexico. Closer inspection showsthere were once four stories to it, but it is now badly demolished, and the trainway has cut through one side,damaging the effect. At present it is three thousandeight hundred and sixty feet around the base, althoughonce it is said to have been one thousand four hundredand forty feet on, each side, or four times that aroundthe entire base. Some say its height is no more thantwo hundred feet, while others affirm it is at the veryleast five hundred feet high; the ascent is made by aSpanish stairway of hewed stone fifteen feet wide, andthere is a second stairway of two hundred steps leadingfrom the main one to the church door.

The little church on top was first built by the Spaniardsin the place of the temple called Quetzalcoate (the Godof the air), built by the Astecs.The church was firstin the shape of a cross, but alterations have been made oflate years, destroying entirely the original design. Itwas dedicated to the Virgin of the Remedies, or Health – Senora de los Remedios, and she is said to have performed some wonderful miracles, at any rate her imageis covered with tokens of her goodness. There is a deskin the church where they sell beads and measures of theVirgin's face, which are said to keep away the devil andbring good luck to the wearer. A little tinseled charmon the beads contains some part of the Virgin's garments,and when I, in a weak moment, asked the seller if hereally meant it, I knew by his answer I had met GeorgeWashington, Jr. It was, "Senorita, I cannot lie."

At places where the hill is dug away can be seen thelayers of mud-brick, which proves undisputedly that thepyramid was really built. It is thought to have servedas a cemetery as well as a place of worship. The Indianshave a tradition that when Cortes tarried at Cholula, anumber of armed warriors plotted to fall suddenly uponthe Spanish army and kill them all. Cortes may havehad a suspicion, or a desire for more blood and morestolen wealth, for without the least warning, he attackedthe citizens of Puebla and killed outright 6,000 besidesterribly wounding thousands of others. When the roadwas being made from Puebla to Mexico they cut throughthe first story of the pyramid. In it was found a squarechamber, destitute of outlet, supported by beams of cypress and built in an odd and remarkable manner. Curious varnished and painted vases, idols in basalt and skeletons were in it. The only conclusion offered was that itwas either a tomb for burial or else the warriors whowanted revenge on the Spanish were by some means buried in this hiding-place. The pyramid is now coveredwith grass, trees and orchids.

Famous stone idols are found in this vicinity. Inplowing the fields or digging holes they are turned up byscores, in all shapes and sizes; the tourist pays goodprices for them, and the more sensational the story attached the higher the tariff; the guide at the hotelshowed me a white arrow flint. He had bought it theday before at Cholula for a medio, and said he was goingto daub it with chicken blood and sell it to the nextparty of tourists as a wonderful relic, which had beenused on the sacrificial stone to kill thousands of people.He would tell them that the worshipers of the sun usedto get a victim and the one who could send the arrowwith this flint directly in the center of the victim's heartstood in favor with their god, the sun. At the depot,besides being bothered with at least twenty idol peddlers,a woman with a baby tried to make me buy it. She refused to sell to any one in the party, but coaxed me totake it, telling all its good qualities. It was good, veryamiable, sympathetic and very precious. Partly to getrid of her I asked, "How much?" "Dos reals" (twenty-five cents) was her astounding reply. "That is toocheap," I said; "I cannot take it unless the price is$100." Evidently she did not understand jesting, forshe kept on saying, " No, senorita, dos reals; muy benito." I successfully resisted its charms as well as herpersuasions. At the last moment, when the car started,she ran after me, saying I could have the baby at $100,if I wouldn't take it at twenty-five cents; but the car soonleft her in the distance, and we had a good laugh at thepoor woman's reasoning powers and lack of business qualities.

The tramway ends at Atlixco, a lovely little villagemidway between Cholula and Puebla. One of the mostbeautiful things along the way is the famous tree at thefoot of St. Michael's Mountain. It is called Ahuehuete.It is many centuries old and a very curious shape. Itstrunk is hollow, with a hole big enough for a horsemanto enter at one side. Thirteen men on horseback canfind plenty of room in its big body. The orchards atthis village are valued at $2,800,000.

There are twenty-four hotels in Puebla, and some arefirst-class in every respect. They serve coffee from 6 to9, breakfast 1 to 3, and dinner 6 to 9. The penitentiarylooks like a Spanish fortress. It is very old, picturesque,and covered with orchids, but the state authorities decided they needed a new one, and have built a handsomeone of stone and brick, which is said to resemble one inPennsylvania, whether East or West I know not, butfrom a distance it looks somewhat like the Western, although all similarity faded on closer inspection. Thereare several parks, and very pretty ones, too, in Puebla.In the main one they have music nightly. At the eastend of the town they have sulphur baths, which are considered very healthy.

The most unique bull-fights of the whole republic areheld here. One Sunday they fought all afternoon in theregular style, but when evening came, they turned on theelectric lights, set a table in the center of the ring, puton it tin dishes, and all the fighters sat down as thoughto eat, one of them attired in a long, white dress. Assoon as they were seated comfortably the gate was flungopen, and the toro rushed in. At the same moment twobanderillas containing fire-rockets were stuck into him,and as they exploded the maddened bull made a rush forthe table. The occupants jerked up the tinware, andwith it began to fight off the bull. Then they jerkedthe table apart, and fought it with the pieces. Whenthe men and beast were pretty tired, the bull was allowedto attack the one in white, the so-called bride, and theswordsman, who of course represented her husband, defended her, and killed the bull with one thrust of thesword. It was simply magnificent, and so exciting thateverybody was standing on their feet yelling lustily atevery new move. The fight was called "The InterruptedBridal Party."

The next Sunday they fought the bulls on burros instead of horses. The men had their bodies protected byplates of tin, and when the toro charged they jumped offthe borro and ran behind screens, while the poor littleanimal had to run for his life, and that was the funniestpart of the programme. The following Sunday all thefighters stuffed themselves. They looked as if they hadfeather beds around their bodies. Then they dressed upin fantastic garb. No horses were allowed in the ring.When the time came the men lay flat on their backs, andand as the door was opened and the bull came tearing in,they wiggled their legs in the air to attract its attention.

One peculiar feature of bull-fighting is that the bullwill never attack a man's legs, but always strike for hisbody. The toro would rush for the prostrate form, andthe American auditors would hold their breath, and thinkthat the fighter's end had come, but just then the bullwould gore him in the stuffed part, and the man wouldturn a complete somersault, alighting always on his feet,safe and sound. The bull would turn those men intoall sorts of shapes without either hurting them or himself.

Puebla is considered the richest State in Mexico, andin it one can select any climate he desires. Puebla Cityis never cold, is never warm; it has the most deliciousclimate in the world, just the degree that must pleasethe most fastidious. In the State are wonderful stonequarries. Every color of clay is used to make dishes,vases, and brick, and abundance of chalk for makinglime. In the rivers and small streams several kinds ofsand are secured, which is used for many purposes, anda few miles away are large veins of iron and other minerals; there are mountains of different varieties ofmarble and onyx, from the transparent to the heaviestknown; extensive fields of coal, quicksilver, lead, withwonderful mines of gold and silver everywhere; there isone strange mountain called Nahuatt (star) covered withrock crystal, the fragments resembling brilliant diamonds, and at another craggy place beautiful emeraldsare found. In many places are hot springs.

The woods are fortunes in themselves. Besides all theMexican varieties are cedar, ebony, mahogany, pine, oak,bamboo, liquid amber, India rubber, and above all thewriting-tree, the wood of which has been pronounced thefinest by five countries. Its colored veins are on a yellowish ground, and it forms thousands of strange figures,monograms, words and profiles. Then there are the silkcotton tree, the logwood and thousands of others. Someof them produce rich essences, others dyes which neverfade. A cactus also grows here from which wine is madewhich they say far excels that of Spain or Italy. In thecold and warm districts are raised cotton, tobacco, vanilla, coffee, rice, sugar-cane, tea, wheat, anise-seed, barley,pepper, Chili beans, corn, peas, and all the fruits of thehot and cold zones. There are salt mines and land wherecattle, horses, mules, burros, sheep, goats and pigs areraised on an extensive scale. The flowers are so variedand abundant that a gentleman who has been exploringthe paradise says their products would supply all the drugstores of the world with perfume. These are a few ofthe charms of the State of Puebla.

There is quite an interesting story connected with theemerald district. The Indians found one and placed iton the altar of the church to serve as a consecrationstone. It was three-quarters of a Spanish yard, or alittle over one-half English yard, in length. Maximilian,during his short reign, went to Puebla to examine it,and offered $1,000,000 for it the moment the jewel expert with him pronounced it extremely fine. The Indians refused, and asked $3,000,000. Afterward anarmed force went to kill the tribe and carry off the gem,but were themselves whipped. The Indians then decided to bury it for safe keeping, when a wily Jesuitpromised eternal salvation to the living, the dead, andthe unborn, if they would give it him in the name of theHoly Virgin, who, he said, had asked for it. The poorinnocent and faithful wretches gave their immense fortune away for a promise that was worse than nothing, andthe treacherous purchaser cut it into small portions andsent it across the sea to be sold, he reaping the benefit.The god Quetzalcotl, which once graced the top of thepyramid at Cholula, was sold to an American a few yearssince for $36,000.

A few miles out from the city, situated in the midst ofa barren plain, stands the magnificent old castle ofPerote, which is celebrated in Mexican history as the lasthome of many of her dark-eyed senoras, who have eitherpined to death in its dreary dungeons or been murderedduring revolutions. It was once the national prison ofthe republic, and was considered one of the strongestbuildings in the world. Even now it is stronger andmore formidable than most fortresses. There is muchmore of interest, historical and otherwise, to be seen inand around Puebla, and one could spend mouths ofsight-seeing every day, and still have something worthlooking at. If a gentleman or lady resident of Pueblais asked where their home is they will quickly answer,"I live in Puebla, but am not a Pueblaen." The latterword translated into Spanish means false and treacherous,hence the carefulness of the people always to add it.

I cannot end this until I give you a sample of themeanness of the Mexicans, other than Indians. Thereal Mexican – a mixture of several nationalities – has agreat greed for cold cash, and thinks the Americano,Yankee, or gringo, was sent here to be robbed. Theydo not draw the line on Americans, but also rob the poorIndian of everything. When I asked for my hotel bill,which was $4 a day, the clerk handed me a bill with$1.25 extra. "What is the extra for?" I inquired."Charming senorita," he answered, "you called for eggstwo or three times." "Yes," I replied, "when you setdown goat's meat for mutton, and gave me strong beef Ihad seen killed by the matadore in the bull-ring the daybefore." "Well," he continued, "eggs are expensive,and it was a trouble to cook them." "My dear senor, Ihave no intention of paying your salary, and your pocketis just minus an expected $1.25. Here is the other."That settled it.

While looking at some marble objects in a store a poorIndian came in with twelve blocks of marble twelve bytwelve, on his back; the poor fellow had hewn themsmooth and then traveled undoubtedly two days or moreon foot over hills and through valleys, the ground atnight his bed and the wild fruits or a few beans broughtfrom home his food. He was ragged and tired, anddirty, but he had a good, honest look on his face. Heasked the shopkeeper to buy the marble. After a littleinspection the merchant purchased, and for it all, whichwas weeks of labor to the poor peon, and meant at least$300 for himself, he gave fifty cents. Nor was that theworst of it; the two quarters were counterfeit and the Indian told him so, but he said no. I stepped to the doorand watched the peon go to a grocer's store across thestreet. They refused to take the money and he cameback and told the marble dealer. Upon his refusing togive good money the Indian turned to me for help, whereupon the keeper laughed and said: "She is a Yankeeand can't understand you."

Well, I had not been in Mexico long, and was entirelyignorant of the language, but my American love for justice was aroused, and in broken English and bad SpanishI managed to tell him I knew the money was bad, andthat the merchant was like the money – that by even giving good money he was cheating the poor peon of hisgoods, He was surprised, that is if a Mexican can besurprised, and he gave out some little change, which Iexamined, and not being sure whether it was good or bad,put it into my own purse, giving the man a quarter instead. He thanked me warmly, tied the money up in thecorner of a rag he had tied around his waist, and thenwent out and tried the other quarter. This also failed topass, and he returned to the now furious storeman, whothreatened to call the police if he did not go away. "Ifyou do, I will tell them that you are passing counterfeitmoney," I said, whereupon he gave the peon anotherpiece, and the poor fellow departed happy. While thestorekeeper said some nasty things in Spanish about"Gringos," it is needless to add I did not buy, nor hadhe the least desire to sell to me.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A FEW NOTES ABOUT MEXICAN PRESIDENTS.

VERY few people outside of the Republic of Mexicohave the least conception of how government affairs arerun there. The inhabitants of Mexico – at least it is soestimated – number 10,000,000 souls, 8,000,000 beingIndians, uneducated and very poor. This large majorityhas no voice in any matter whatever, so the governmentis conducted by the smaller, but so-called better class.My residence in Mexico of five months did not give meample time to see all these things personally, but I havethe very best authority for all statements. Men whom Iknow to be honorable have given me a true statement offacts which have heretofore never reached the publicprints. That such things missed the public press willrather astonish Americans who are used to a free press;but the Mexican papers never publish one word againstthe government or officials, and the people who are attheir mercy dare not breathe one word against them, asthose in position are more able than the most tyrannicalczar to make their life miserable. When this is finishedthe worst is yet untold by half, so the reader can formsome idea about the Government of Mexico.

President Diaz, according to all versions, was a braveand untiring soldier, who fought valiantly for his beautiful country. He was born of humble parents, his fatherbeing a horse dealer, or something of that sort; but hewas ambitious, and gaining an education entered thefield as an attorney-at-law. Although he mastered hisprofession, all his fame was gained on the battle-field.Perfirio Diaz is undoubtedly a fine-looking man, beingwhat is called a half-breed, a mixture of Indian andSpaniard. He is tall and finely built, with soldierlybearing. His manners are polished, with the pleasingSpanish style, compelling one to think – while in hispresence – that he could commit no wrong; the brilliancyof his eyes and hair is intensified by the carmine of cheekand whiteness of brow, which, gossip says, are put thereby the hand of art. Diaz has been married twice – firstto an Indian woman, if I remember rightly, who left himwith one child, and next to a daughter of the present Secretary of the Interior, Manuel Romero Rubio. She ishandsome, of the Spanish type, a good many yearsyounger than the president, and finely educated, speaking Spanish, French and English fluently. Mrs. Diazhas no children, but is step-mother to two – a daughterand a son of the president. The president, so far asrumor goes, follows not in the footsteps of his countrymen, has no more loves than one, and is really devotedto Mrs. Diaz.

There are two political parties, a sort of a Liberal andConservative concern, but if you ask almost any man notin an official position he will hesitate and then explainthat there are really two parties; that he has almost forgotten their names, but he has never voted, no use, etc.Juarez, who crushed Maximilian, while a good presidentin some respects, planted the seeds of dishonesty whenhe claimed the churches and pocketed the spoils therefrom. Every president since then has done what hecould to excel Juarez in this line. When Diaz first tookthe presidency he had the confidence and respect of thepeople for his former conduct. They expected greatthings of him, but praise in a short time was given lessand less freely, and the people again realized that theirsavior had not yet been found. When his term drew neara close, his first bite made him long for more, and hemade a contract with Manuel Gonzales to give him thepresidency if he would return it at the end of his time,as the laws of Mexico do not permit a president to be hisown successor, but after the expiration of another term(four years) he can again fill the position.

The constitution of Mexico is said to excel, in the wayof freedom and liberty to its subjects, that of the UnitedStates; but it is only on paper. It is a republic only inname, being in reality the worst monarchy in existence.Its subjects know nothing of the delights of a presidential campaign; they are men of a voting age, but theyhave never indulged in this manly pursuit, which evenour women are hankering after. No two candidates arenominated for the position, but the organized ringallows one of its members – whoever has the most power – to say who shall be president; they can vote, thoughthey are not known to do so; they think it saves trouble,time, and expense to say at first, "this is the president,"and not go to the trouble of having a whole nation comeforward and cast the votes, and keep the people indrunken suspense for forty-eight hours, while the managers miscount the ballots, and then issue bulletins stating that they have put in their man; then the self-appointed president names all the governors, and divideswith them the naming of the senators; this is the ballotin Mexico.

Senor Manuel Gonzales readily accepted Diaz's proposition and stepped into the presidency. He had alsobeen a loyal soldier, and was as handsome as Diaz, thoughsome years his senior. Gonzales is a brave man, powerfully built, but was so unfortunate as to lose his rightarm in battle. He has, however, learned to write withhis left in a large, scrawling style. He has a legal wife,from whom, however, he is separated. While he wasfilling the presidential chair she made a trip through theUnited States, and gained some notoriety by being putout of the Palmer House because she did not pay billscontracted there on the strength of being the wife of thePresident of Mexico. On her return to the land of theAztecs, she found that the law could not touch the CzarGonzales, who was living like a king, nor could she get adivorce, as Mexico does not sanction such luxuries. Shestarted a sewing establishment, but it is said that she isliving in abject poverty, and, like all Mexican women,with the door to the way of gaining an honest livelihoodbarred against her because of her sex.

Their family consists of two sons, both captains in thearmy – Manuel, twenty-seven years old, and Fernando,twenty-five – fine-looking and well educated. The latteris said to be quite good to his mother. It is reportedthat Manuel Gonzales and Miss Diaz, the only daughterof the president, are to be married shortly.

Gonzales while in power issued several million dollars'worth of nickel money, which the people refused to accept. One day, as he was being driven from the palacein an open carriage, he was surrounded by a mob whothrew bags of the coin on him, while others cried out forhis life. The driver – who, by the way, was at that timethe only negro in the City of Mexico – fiercely foughtthose who had stopped his team and resisted by mainforce their efforts to unseat him. He wanted to drivethe fine-blooded horses right over the angry, howlingmob, but Gonzales calmly told him to desist, and then,revolver in hand, descended from the carriage, asked thepeople what they wanted, swore roundly at them andcommanded them to disperse.

The effect was astonishing. Without one outburst, asthough quelled by an immense army, that maddenedmob moved away and Gonzales re-entered his carriagetriumphantly, and was driven home unmolested and uninjured. The money, however, was sold for almost nothing, and some Europeans were smart enough to buy. Ina short time the government bought it all back, payingcent for cent, and I know personally one man who made$100,000 in one day on his lot. Ill truth, it was thefoundation of more than twenty fortunes in Mexico atthe present time. Eight months before Gonzales retiredhe tried to force the people to accept the English debtlaw. They refused, and filled the halls of Congress, inwhich they had congregated, with cries and groans.They would not cease at the presidential command, andGonzales ordered the soldiers to fire on them severaltimes. It was impossible that in such a narrow space allshould escape death, yet no true report was ever made ofthe affair.

When Gonzales went into office $900,000 could becounted in the treasury. On the last day of his term hisannual income exceeded $200,000 and his salary, whichwas $30,000 yearly. On the morning of his last day hesent to the treasurer to know how much money yet remained in the treasury. "One hundred thousand dollars," was the reply. Gonzales requested that it be sentto him, and when the treasurer meekly hinted that itmight be good for his neck to know to whom to chargeit, Gonzales replied that if he did not know that muchhe had better send in his resignation. The money wasin the president's hand in a very short time after this.Next he bought a $2 ticket from the state nationallottery and with it sent a little line to the managers."See that this draws the prize to-day." The first prizewas $100,000. Strange to relate his ticket drew thefortunate number, and Gonzales closed his eyes thatnight with a murmur like Monte-Cristo as he gazed uponthe sea, "The world is mine!" That evening the peoplewere so glad that they gathered in an impassable mobaround the palace and cathedral, and tried to enter thelatter, that they might proclaim their feelings by ringing forth from the numerous bells which hang in themammoth towers, one happy peal; but an army was soonon the spot and prevented any demonstration. Investigation showed $25,000,000 missing and the governmentemployes unpaid.

Experts figure out that Gonzales raked in $25,220,000in his four years of official life, and he didn't have to goto Canada, either. Gonzales immediately went to Guanajuato as governor, where he was received with open arms,and when the people, who found the bank broke just asthey expected to take it, began to whisper that they wouldlike a little investigation, Gonzales swore he would spendevery cent they were clamoring after in raising an armyto overthrow the Diaz Government. On hearing thisDiaz slunk off like a half-drowned cat and made a law,which went into effect June 22, 1886, taking a percentage off every government employe to help pay up theGonzales deficiency.

Gonzales is modest; he don't want the presidency anymore. He wisely invested his hard-earned cash in anestate. His palaces and haciendas are something wonderful for size, beauty, and furnishment. Of course,give a man a bad name and everything mean is laid athis door; but it is credited to him that he took a fancyto a very rich hacienda, and he told the owner he wouldgive him $200,000. The haciendado said it had belongedto his family since the time of Cortes, and he had not theleast desire to sell, besides it was at the very least worth$2,000,000. Immediately all sorts of evil fell upon theunhappy owner. His horses were shot, his cattle, water,and even family poisoned. At last, when hope wascrushed, Gonzales accidentally reappeared, and told theheart-broken man that he would give him $10,000 forthis place. The hacienda was immediately his, but theformer owner is still looking for his money. The strangepart is that Gonzales has not suffered the afflictions visited upon the former owner.

President Diaz has two years from next December toserve, that is, providing a revolution does not cut histerm short. The people will not say much about hisgoing out, as one just as bad will replace him. They always know one year in advance who the president is tobe, and even at the present date it lies between Diaz's father-in-law, Romerio Rubio, or Mier Teran, Governor ofOaxaca, both of whom belong to the ring. Diaz fears arevolution, and is afraid of losing his life. It is said hehastened his removal to Chapultepec because they threatened to blow up his house on Calle de Cadena, No. 8,with dynamite. Last January a party of Revolutionistslaid plans to overthrow the Diaz Government, but onefellow got into a controversy with a Diaz party while riding on the Pasio, and so they came to blows, the news gotabroad and armies paraded through the streets of Mexicountil the poor little body of "righters" were overawedby the demonstration. Gonzales is sixty-five years old.He gets along nicely as Governor of Guanajuato, havingno duties and being looked up to as a king by the people. When he comes to Mexico for a few days they prepare expensive receptions for his return. They are hishumble subjects, and he is satisfied to be king of thatstate.

CHAPTER XXV.

MEXICAN SOLDIERS AND THE RURALES.

EL MEXICANO thinks it would be one of the pleasantest, as well as one of the easiest, things in the world towhip the "Gringoes," while the latter, with their headsa little swelled, perhaps, imagine otherwise, and scoff atthe idea of the "Greasers" winning even one battle inthe event of war. Be that as it may, solid, unvarnishedfacts will prove to the most headstrong that the advantage is mostly on the other side.

The standing army in Mexico is said to number fortythousand men, but is believed to be more. Every littlevillage of a few hundred people has its army, and everyday that army is being increased; the officers range fromthose who have gained experience and fame on the battlefield to the young ones reared and trained in militarycolleges; they are mostly all of what is considered thehighest class of people in Mexico.

The rank and file are mostly half-breeds or Indians,who are not by any means volunteers. They are nearlyall convicts. When a man is convicted of some misdemeanor he is enlisted in the regular army, separatedfrom his home, and to serve the rest of his natural life.This life is not a bed of roses – there is no bed at all, andout of a medio (6 1/4 cents) a day, he has to furnish hisfood and comforts. The dress uniform is made ofcoarse woolen goods, with yellow stripes on the sleeves;and the undress uniform, which is worn constantly except on review days, is but white muslin, pants, waistand cap.

Some of the Indians are stolen and put in the army,and they immediately resign themselves to their fate, forthere is no more escape for them than there is fromdeath.

The wives of these poor fellows are very faithful, andvery often follow the regiment from one place to another;they live on what nature grows for them and what theycan beg or steal; the men are called in Spanish "soldados," and the women, because they cling to their husbands, "soldadas." It looks very pitiful to see a poorIndian woman with a babe tied to her back and one clinging to her skirts, dusty, hungry and footsore, travelingfor miles through the hot sun with the regiments.

These soldados are wonderfully hardy; they can travelfor a week through the hot sun, with nothing to drinkand but a spoonful of boiled beans and one tortillia – asmall flat cake – for two days' rations, sleep on the groundat night, and be as fresh for service as a well-kept mule.Fight! well those who imagine it such an easy thing towhip them should stand off and witness some of theirfeats first; they love their country, and consider life welllost in defense of it; they are ignorant, it is true, butseem the more courageous for it. When told to fight,they go at it with as much vigor as a bull dog after a cat;they don't know why they are fighting, or for what, butit is their rule and custom to obey, not to reason why.If you would stop one soldier in the midst of his fighting and ask: "Why are you fighting?" he would answer in the characteristic words of his people, "Quieusabe?"

If a man is silly enough to try to escape from thisbondage he is immediately shot, or if he disobeys ordersthey have time but to punish him with death. A shorttime before leaving Mexico some guards at the prisontried to desert, and immediately every regiment wasnotified to be on the lookout, and others were sent out torecapture them, and as soon as found they were shot.The soldiers have an herb named marijuana, which theyroll into small cigaros and smoke. It produces intoxication which lasts for five days, and for that period theyare in paradise. It has no ill after-effects, yet the use isforbidden by law. It is commonly used among prisoners.One cigaro is made, and the prisoners all sitting in a ringpartake of it. The smoker takes a draw and blows thesmoke into the mouth of the nearest man, he likewisegives it to another, and so on around the circle. Onecigaro will intoxicate the whole lot for the length of fivedays.

The Mexican officers are unpleasantly sarcastic, orrather they have a custom that is the extreme of irony.It is known as la ley fuga (the law of escape). They willtell you they are going to take a prisoner, or soldier, asthe case may be, out to the suburbs to give him a chanceto escape. It sounds very pleasant to the stranger. Theywill, for example, politely ask the railway conductor tostop the train in some quiet place, as they want to let aprisoner escape. The American conductor finds his heartwarming within him for these generous officers, andquickly and gladly obeys. The train is stopped, they allget off, and the officers form in a single line, with gunsraised to the shoulders. The prisoner is placed beforethem and told to Vamos. He gives one glance into theirunchanging faces, the surrounding land, and then starts.That moment he falls to the earth riddled with a dozenbullets, and the executioners re-enter the train and arespeeding fast away, almost before the echo of this fatalvolley died away. They cannot waste time putting hisbody beneath the ground, but before long, some Indians,traveling that way, find it. He is one of them, and theirturn may be next, so they lay him in a hastily-dug hole,erect a wooden cross at the end, murmur a prayer, andleave him to return to that from which he sprung. Thisis the merciful "law of escape" practiced daily in Mexico.

Once every year to commemorate the victory over theFrench on the 5th of May, 1862, the president reviewsall the troops. They flock to the city from mountain,valley, town, and city, clad in holiday attire. Then onlyone realizes their strength, as they march before the palace where the president is seated on the balcony. Thefinest looking men in the whole 40,000 are the rurales.They number 6000 and are larger men than Mexicansusually are.

These rurales are a band of outlaws who came forwardwith their chief and aided Diaz during the war. Whenit was over Diaz recognized their power, and was so afraidof them that he offered them a place in the army, withtheir chief as general, and they are to-day not only thebest paid, but – speaking of their fighting ability – thebest men in Mexico. In the first place they are largeand powerful and known over the entire country, mountain, town, and valley, as thoroughly as we know our A,B, C. They fear nothing on earth, or out of it, andwill fight on the least provocation. They would ratherfight than eat, and have a great aversion to exhibitingthemselves, as they demonstrated on the 5th of May last,when only 800 could be persuaded to participate.

They have their own bands and a number of buglers.Every man owns his horse, which must in color matchthat of the rest of the regiment. Their uniform is yellow buckskin, elaborately embroidered with silver andgold, upon the pants and on the back, front and sleevesof the short cutaway jacket. Their wide sombrero is thesame color, finished with the same embroidery and a sil-ver cord and tassel. Their saddles also match their suitsin color and silver finish. How they ride! It is simplyperfection. The horse and rider seem to be one.

I don't think they could carry any more weapons ifthey tried. Each man has a good carbine, a sword, tworevolvers, the same number of daggers and two lassos,and they fight with any or all of these weapons. Theyfight very cleverly with the lasso. If they wish to take aprisoner – a very unusual proceeding on their part – they,with the rope, can either lasso man and horse together ortwo or more men. The other lasso is of wire, which notonly catches the fugitive, but knocks him senseless orcuts his head off, as the case may be.

These rurales guide tourists through the interior andalso attend all public places to keep order; they receiveone dollar a day, which is enormous compared with theother soldiers' pay of six and one-quarter cents. Theyhave their horses in perfect control, and can make themexecute all kinds of movements in a body, while the tricksperformed by individual horses are numberless.

The Mexicans have a good deal of suppressed wrathbothering them at the present day; they know that Diazis a tyrannical czar, and want to overthrow him. It maybe readily believed that Diaz knows they are bound toget rid of this superfluous feeling, and he would muchrather have them vent its strength on the Americans thanon himself; thus he stands on the war question. He isa good general, and has many good, tough old soldiers,the best of whom is ex-President Gonzales, to aid him,besides the convict soldiers and the rurales.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE PRESS OF MEXICO.

THE press of Mexico is like any of the other subjectsof that monarchy, yet it is a growing surprise to theAmerican used to free movement, speech and print whovisits Mexico with the attained idea that it is a republic.Even our newspapers have been wont to clip from the little sheets which issue from that country, believing themuntrammeled, and quoting them as the best authority,when, in truth, they are but tools of the organized ring,are only capable of deceiving the outsider.

In the City of Mexico there are about twenty-five newspapers published, and throughout the empire some few,which are perused by the smallest possible number of people. The Mexicans understand thoroughly how thepapers are run, and they consequently have not the slightest respect in the world for them. One can travel formiles, or by the day, and never see a man with a newspaper. They possess such a disgust for newspapers thatthey will not even use one of them as a subterfuge to hidebehind in a street car when some woman with a dozenbundles, three children and two baskets is looking for aseat.

The best paper in Mexico is El Monitor Republicano(the Republican Monitor), which claims to have, in thecity, suburbs, and United States, a circulation of fivethousand. It is printed entirely in Spanish. The Mexican Financier is a weekly paper – filled with advertisem*nts from the States – which is published in Englishand Spanish, and is bought only by those who want tolearn the Spanish language, yet it is the best Englishpaper in Mexico. Another English paper is publishedby an American, Howell Hunt, in Zacatecas, but it, likethe rest, is of little or no account. One of the newsiest,if not the newsiest, is El Tiempo (the Times), which issquelched about every fortnight, as it is anti-governmental.

Very few have telegraphic communication with theoutside world, and none whatever with their own country. They mostly clip and translate items from their exchanges, heading them "Special telegrams," etc., whenin reality they are from eight to ten days old. El MonitorRepublicano steals from its exchanges first and the otherpapers copy from it. Not a single paper has a reporter.Two men are considered plenty to clip and translate fora daily, and it is not unusual for them to borrow type toset the paper. All the type-setting is done in the daytime and a morning paper is ready for sale – if anybodywanted it – the afternoon before. While our morningnewspapers allow their brains to rest at 5 A. M., the Mexican brethren cease labor the day before at 4 P. M.Things happening on the streets, which would make a"display head" with us, are never even mentioned bythem. One day I saw woman fall dead two squaresaway from a newspaper office, and after a long time readin the same paper: "One of our respected contemporariesis authority for the story thanan unknown Indian womandropped dead on the street about two weeks ago." Itneeded no label "castanado" (chestnut). For a timethe papers imagined they had an item.

There was an old Frenchman who made some sort oftaffy and with it used to perambulate the streets crying,"Piruli." The English paper came out quoting a noticeof this old fellow. In a few days they quoted another tothe effect that the old fellow had died of smallpox.Then, after using space for one entire week, changingevery other day the cause of the old man's death and substituting some new disease, the learned editor stated thataccording to all reports the old fellow was not dead atall, but had charmed some rich Mexican widow with hismusical voice – or taffy – and was enjoying a honeymoonon her bank account. We even did not get peace withthat, but in a few days they declared the report false andgave a new version. When we left there, five monthslater, they were still contradicting themselves about theold taffy-peddler.

Quite as bad was their treatment of a small forest firelocated about twenty miles from the city. I was at thevillage at the time, and was quite amused, when the fireswere extinguished after eight hours' burning, to read fortwo weeks after contradictory stories on it. It was stillraging with renewed energy – hundreds of lives had beenlost, etc., until one morning the English paper said:"According to a letter received at this office yesterday,the forest fire only lasted a few hours, and our contemporaries, from whom we have been quoting, have made abig mistake. No lives were lost."

When a new member was added to the royal family ofSpain the notice was clipped from a foreign paper, inwhich it stated clearly that the Queen Regent Christinahad given birth to a boy baby. Yet it was headed: "Isit a Boy?" When it grew a little colder than usual in aninterior town, they headed the item: "A Mexican Townin Danger." When Roswell P. Flower, of New York,returned from his trip to Mexico he was interviewed bysome reporter, and while he said nothing in Mexico'sfavor he said nothing against it, so they headed theclipping: "He Loves Mexico." Moralizing is quite customary, at least with the English paper. After quotingan item from La Patria about a married pair quarrelingso fiercely that the mother-in-law took bilious fever anddied, it gave a sermon entitled: "Let not your angrypassions rise." On another occasion, speaking of thecriminal list being unusually large for the last month, itbroke out with: "Oh, pulque, pulque, what evils arecommitted under thine influence! And yet, verily, thouart a most excellent aid to digestion."

All the papers which I know of are subsidized by thegovernment, and, until within several months ago, theywere paid to abstain from attacks on the government.This subsidy has stopped, through want of funds, but thepapers say nothing against the government, as they caretoo much for their easy lives; so they circulate amongforeigners misrepresenting all Mexican affairs, and putting every thing in a fair but utterly false light. TheMexicans have nothing but contempt for the papers, andthe newspaper men have no standing whatever, not evenlevel with the government officials, whose tools they are.If a newspaper even hints that government affairs couldbe bettered, the editors are thrown into prison, too filthyfor brutes, until they die or swear never to repeat the offense. The papers containing the so-called libelous itemsare all hunted up by the police and destroyed, and theoffice and type are destroyed. These arrests are not unusual; indeed they are of frequent occurrence. Whilein Mexico I knew of at least one man being sent to jailevery two weeks; they are taken by force, in the mostpeculiar manner for a country which lays claim to havinglaws, not to speak of being a republic. Just for an imaginary offense in their writings, they are remanded toprison, and are kept in dark and dirty cells, shut off fromconnection with the world without trial, without evenenough to eat.

A satirical paper named Ahuizote was denounced bysome offended government officials and the editor wasthrown into jail. Then Daniel Cabrera started anotherMexican Puck and called it Hijo del Ahuizote (the son ofAhuizote). It was quite clever and got out a caricatureentitled: "The Cemetery of the Press," showing in thebackground the graves of the different papers, and in thefront a large cross engraved, "The independent Press.R. I. P.," while hanging to each side was a red-eyed owlwith a spade. On top of the tomb was a lighted fusemarked "Liberty." Underneath it read, "The sadcemetery of the Press of Mexico, filled by liberty leaders,Juarez, Lerdo, Diaz and Gonzales." The police weresent out to gather up and destroy every copy of thispaper.

Editor Cabrera was put in Belem, where he remainedin the most pitiable condition until death promised release; through the influence of friends they took himhome to die, guarding his house with a regiment untilhe should be fit to be carried back to jail or until theyshould see his body consigned to the grave. To say libelous things is as dangerous as to write them. One fellow who ran a liquor shop let his tongue wag too muchfor wisdom, and one night a, member of the police secretservice went in, and as the proprietor turned to get thedrink the policeman had called for, he was shot in theback and again in the body after he had fallen. The notice of the affair ended by saying: "It is not knownwhether the policeman had orders to do the shooting."La Cronicade Tribunales (the Court Chronicle) editor wasdenounced and imprisoned for simply speaking about therulings of one of the judges.

As all know by the Editor Cutting case, even a foreignerdoes not write about Mexico's doings as they really are.I had some regard for my health, and a Mexican jail isthe least desirable abode on the face of the earth, so somecare was exercised in the selection of topics while we wereinside their gates. Quite innocently one day I wrote ashort notice about some editors, who received no pay fromthe government, being put in jail. The article was copiedfrom one paper to another, and finally reached Mexico.The subsidized sheets threatened to denounce me andsaid in Spanish, "One button was enough;" meaning byone article the officials could see what my others werelike, but by means of a little bravado I convinced themthat I had the upper hand, and they left me unhurt.They have a law, known as "Article 33," which definesthe fate of "pernicious" foreigners who speak or writetoo freely of the land and its inhabitants. Once or twicethey have been kind enough to take the offending for-eigner and march him, with a regiment of soldiers at hisheels, across the boundary line.

Professor Francis Wayland, of Brown University, together with the American Consul, Porch, and Dr. Parsons, visited the prison Belem to ascertain the conditionsof the editors imprisoned there. They were not grantedany of the customary privileges, but one little paid sheetwas afraid some truth would reach the public's eye, asProfessor Wayland was soon to return to the States. Inreferring to the visit, this paper said: "It is to be notedthat these men wanted to enter the very gallery wherethe newspaper men were confined, and that they took'note in a memorandum book of all answers.'" To savetrouble, Dr. Parsons, who resides in Mexico, said theymerely exchanged the usual greeting with the prisoners.Some of the editors confined thought, that as they belonged to a press club, that they could appeal to the Associated Press of the United States for aid. Of course,such an appeal would be useless; the papers now published there take pride in copying and crediting them toother papers. No dependence can be put in any of themfor a true statement of affairs. The Two Republics wasstarted and run by a Texan, Major Clarke. He lived inMexico with his family and regularly every evening usedto take a walk down the paseo with his two daughters,who always walked a couple of yards in advance. Thiswas repeated every day until the Mexicans used to say,"There is Clarke and his Two Republics."

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE GHASTLY TALE OF DON JUAN MANUEL.

WHEN able to translate Spanish, there is nothing thatwill amuse a tourist more in the City of Mexico thanrending the street and store signs and names of the different squares. Streets are not named there as here.Every square is called a street and has a separate name;the same with all the stores and public buildings. Nodifference how small, they have some long, fantasticname painted above the doorway. We used to get lunchat a restaurant called "The Coffee House of the LittleHell," and our landlady always bought her groceries at"The Tail of the Devil."

"Sara's Shoe," the "Paris Boot," and the "Boot ofGold," were all shoe stores of the very best order, wherethey will make lovely satin boots, embroidered in goldor silver bangles for $8 a pair, or of the finest leatherfor $3 to $5. They never have numbers to theirshoes, and if none will fit, they make to order without extra charges. There is not a low-heeled, flat shoein Mexico; they cannot be sold. One pair of American make, in a window on a prominent street, attracteda great deal of attention and ridicule. The Mexicanwomen have lovely feet, and their shoes are very fancy – extremely high cut, French or opera heels and pointedtoes. The shoemakers have a book in which they takeorders for shoes. First they set the foot down on a cleanpage and mark out the exact size; then they write on itthe measure and the thickness, and when the shoe arrives it is of perfect fit. Let it be added, as encouragement to La-Americana, that although the dark-eyedSenorita's foot is exquisite in size and shape, she walkswith a decided stoop, caused by the extremely high heelsshe has worn from babyhood.

"The Surprise," the "God of Fashion," the "Wayto Beauty is Through the Purse," the "Esmerelda"and the "Land of Love" are dry goods stores kept byFrenchmen, and filled with the most expensive thingsever exhibited to the public. While the "Red Sombrero" sells silk hats at three dollars to hundreds ofdollars for sombreros covered with fifty pounds of silverand gold embroidery, the "Temptation," the "Reform,"the "Flowers of April," the "Sun of May," the "Fifthof May," the "Christmas Night" and the "Dynamite"sell pulque at a laco a mug to the thirsty natives.

The names of the streets were such a source of unfailing interest to me that I cannot refrain from telling ofsome of the strangest and most peculiar ones. All thesaints ever heard of or imagined are honored. TheMexicans do not say street after a name, in our fashion,but always say the street of – such as the Street of theLittle Hand, of the Masons, of Montezuma, of the Magnolia Tree, of the Moon, of Grace, of Joy, of the Jointof God, of Jesus and Mother, of the Sad Indian, of Independence, of Providence, of Enjoyment, of the Hens,of the Steers, of the Slave, of Pain, of the Devil, of theDelicious, of the Dance, of the Green Cross, of theCrosses, of Cayote, of the Flowery Field, of the Cavalry,of the Chin, of the Heads, of a Good Sight, of a GoodDeath, of the Wood of the Most Holy Bench, of Christ'sMother's Prayer, of the Arts, of the Trees, of the Angles,Street of Mirth, Street of Bitterness, Street of the Loveof God. Street of the Golden Eagle, of the Little Bird,of the Palm, of Progress, Street of Spring, Street of Papers, of the Lost Child, of Mosquitoes, of Paper Money,of Monstrosities, of Death, of the Wars, of Intense Misery, of the Mill, of the Barber Shop, of the Mice, of theRefuge, of the Clock, of the Kings, of the Rose, of theQueen, of the Seven Principals, of the Solitude of theHoly Cross, of the Soldiers, of the Hat, of the Vegetables, of Triumphs, of a Sot, of a Bull, of the Shuttingup of Jesus, of the Shutting up of Money, of the Blind,of the Heart of Jesus, of the Body of Christ, Back of St.Andrews, Back of the Son of God, Back of St. John ofGod, Back of the Holy Ghost, Back of the Flowers,Back of the Flesh, Back of the Fruit; then there is theBridge of the Little Cars, Bridge of the Raven, Bridge ofthe Holy Ghost, Bridge of Iron, Bridge of Firewood,Bridge of Mercy, Bridge of Jesus, and many othersequally curious.

There are eleven streets named after Humboldt in theCity of Mexico. Curious legends are attached to manyof the streets, but many have been forgotten; the streetwhich faces the National Palace, called Don Juan Manuel, is very interesting from its story, which, they say, isevery word true. As we have no power with which totest its veracity it must pass without questioning. Hereit is:

When the Spaniards first settled in Mexico there wasone man named Don Juan Manuel, who, although blessedwith a handsome wife, was always discontented andcomplaining because his family did not increase; thismelancholy affected his digestive organs, until he becamea victim of dyspepsia, which we all know leads to variouswhims and fancies. At any rate, he became possessed ofthe idea that his wife was unfaithful to his fitful andfretful devotion, and he sat up at night brooding overthis, and writing down beautiful names he would hearand read of, that would be handy in case of any suddenand unexpected event whereby they could be utilized.

One night while thus occupied the devil appeared andtold him to bring his nephew from Spain, and also tostand, wrapped in a long black cape, such as is yet wornby his countrymen, in front of his house at eleven o'clockthat night (a very late hour for a Spaniard to be abroadin Mexico). The first man who passed would be the onewho had stolen his wife's love, whispered the devil, andDon Juan Manuel must say to him: "My friend, whatis the hour?" and, on the man's replying, continue:"You are a happy man; you know the hour of yourdeath," then stab him to the heart. This done, he wasto immediately feel relieved. His wife's love would return, and he would ever after be supremely happy.

The don, much elated at the promised downfall of animaginary rival, and the ease it would bring to his worried mind, hastened to do the devil's bidding; the verynext night, wrapped in his long cloak, he stood in theshadow of his house; just as the watchman's whistle, calling the hour of eleven, had ceased to sound way off inthe distance, a man, as the devil predicted, came walking by. "My friend, what is the hour?" cried Don JuanManuel. True to the historic courtesy of his birth, thestranger politely stopped and replied: "With your permission, eleven o'clock, Senor Don." "You are a happyman; you know the hour of your death," and the unsuspecting stranger fell, stabbed to the heart, while DonManuel hastened into his casa.

But he found no relief. While he had no regret forthe deed, his jealousy seemed to burn with increased fire:so the devil came again and told him he had killed the wrong man, but he must persevere – go out again, killthe man that he should see at that hour, and at last hewould find the right one; the people began to talk abouta man being found every morning dead at the same spotand in the same manner. But Don Juan was one oftheir highest by birth and rearing and was above suspicion. Their superstition made them attribute thedeaths to an invisible power, and no investigation wasmade.

In the meantime Don Juan's dearly beloved nephewhad arrived from Spain, and was not only warmly wel-comed by him, but by his wife, who hoped the nephewmight be the means of helping to bridge the chasm,which for months had steadily been increasing betweenherself and her husband. Night came on, and the donwent out to perform his deadly business. A man cladlike himself came along, and Don Juan approached with,"My friend, what is the hour?" "Eleven o'clock.Adois," briefly answered the one addressed. "You area happy man; you know the hour of your death," andthe dark-clad stranger sank with a slight moan, while thedon fled to his dreary chambers.

Morning dawned, and a dead man, as usual, was found.Don Manuel met them carrying the body into his casa,heard the screams of his wife, and saw the rigid face ofhis beloved nephew, dead, and by his hand! He rushedto his father confessor, whom he had not visited for solong, and begged absolution. "Thou must first repent,"said the father. "Repent, repent!" cried the wretchedman; "I am racked with misery. Grant me absolution.""Prove thy repentance first," answered the father; "goand stand beneath the scaffolding in front of the officialbuilding when the bell and watchman tolls the hour formidnight. Prove thy repentance by doing that thrice,then come to me."

After the first trial he returned to the father, beggingthat absolution be granted, for devils had wounded hisflesh and tortured him as he had stood beneath the scaffolding. "No, twice more must thou stand there," wasthe unrelenting reply, and once again he went. Morningbrought him more dead than alive to the good father'sside. His face wore the hue of death, his form wastrembling, his eyes were glassy and his words wild. "Icannot endure the third night. Angels and devils alikesurround me. My victims ask me, with their cold handsabout my throat and glassy eyes staring into mine, toname the hour I want to die. My flesh is bruised wherethey burn and prick me. My head is sore from the frequent pulling of my hair. Grant me absolution; theyhave showed me the bottomless pit of hell, and I cannotreturn!"

The good father prayed long and earnestly with him,that the Almighty power would deal leniently with hismany crimes, but commanded the trembling wretch tospend the third and final night beneath the scaffolding.Dawn came, but it brought no hopeful man for thepromised absolution. They found him hanging on thescaffolding dead. Some say the angels took him awaybecause he had suffered sufficiently for his sins. Otherssay the devils hung him because he tried to escape thetoil he had willingly accepted. But he was dead. Hisstory was made known, and because of the strangenessof it, this street was named after him, and I never traversed it while in Mexico but that I felt sorrow for thepoor insane wretch as he stood three nights beneath thescaffolding on Don Juan Manuel.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A MEXICAN PARLOR.

MOST readers will probably be interested to know howcustom rules that a parlor shall be furnished "in Spanish" as we quaintly say in Mexico. For the knowledgethat all are of a different tongue makes a rather queerimpression and it is quite common for foreigners to remark: "Oh, they can't hear, they are Spanish." Weeven get to think they cannot see and that people laughand babies cry "in Spanish."

A parlor, or sala, is found in every private Mexicanhouse, but until within the last two years there was not ahotel in the republic that had a parlor. Boarders entertained their friends in their bedrooms – and this is yetconsidered quite the proper thing to do. Some of thehotels now advertise as Americanos on the strength ofhaving a little parlor. Calling or visiting is quite uncommon, as there is no society, and little sociability outside their home doors, yet occasionally relatives call onone another; still I have been with cousins who accidentally met at church, and though they were the best offriends, living within a dozen squares of each other,they had not exchanged visits for three years; this isquite common. I know two sisters living within foursquares of each other who have not been in each other'shouse for a year. I hardly think the reason is a lack ofsociability or hospitality, as, once within the massivewalls of their casa, the Spanish courtesy is readily ex-hibited; they are your servants, and their house is yoursfor the time being, but the main causes are the gradualdecrease of their once princely fortunes, and their laziness; the latter I regard, from close observation, as thechief fault.

Yet with all their retired habits they retain the "custom" of former generations as to how their parlor mustbe arranged and visits paid and received, as strictly asthough they were in the midst of an ultra society circle;their customs, I have been informed, are thoroughlySpanish and are the only ones practiced both in Spainand Cuba.

The sala is always on the second floor, as none butservants occupy the ground or first floor, and it is generally the only room in the house which boasts of a carpet.In several cases I have seen the floors made of polishedwood and marble tiling; the walls are beautifully frescoedin colors, and the ceiling, which is always very high, hasa magnificent painting in the center, the subject invariably of angels or a group of scantily-clad females. Ineach corner there are round, brass-edged openings ofabout ten inches in circumference, which serve as ventilators and very often a double purpose by letting scorpions in on unwilling victims.

The windows are but glass doors opening out upon little iron-railed balconies shaded by awnings. Each window-shade is transparent, and as the light shines through,it not only fills the room with some beautiful delicate tints,but discloses a lovely Southern scene. Cobweby curtainsof creamy white hang from brass poles, suspended atleast a foot and a half from the window, forming inthemselves little nooks which would be idolized byromantically inclined "spoons" and "spooners" of theStates.

The Mexicans are all good judges of paintings andmany are talented artists; they do not harrow up one'ssensibilities with dollar daubs of blue-trees, lavender-tinted skies and a mammoth animal with horns and tail,standing on a white streak in the foreground, which (theanimal) placed cross-wise, could stand on all fours andnever touch water. Nor does one's eyes have to long forthe waters of Lethe because of tea prizes and Mikadoornaments. But a selection of good oil paintings andFrench-plate mirrors, all framed in brass, grace theirrooms.

The piano is almost universal and occupies some nookby itself; the furniture for the sala is always cushionedand is composed mainly of easy chairs; the sofa – the seatof honor – is placed against the wall beneath some largepainting or mirror and a large rug is laid in front.Starting from either end are the easy chairs which forman unbroken circle around the sofa, all thus being ableto face it without turning their backs on any one. Directly at the back of the chairs, or facing the sofa, is around table with a "crazy" patchwork cover – whichcraze has invaded even that country – or a knitted scarf.Then it is actually littered with ornaments of every description, leaving no empty space; as an Englishmanrather tersely remarked to me, "They look like a counterin a crowded pawn shop."

All the chairs, and the sofa, have crocheted tidies onthe backs, arms and seat, each separate, and enough tomadden a Talmage convert. You may rise up slowlywith an Andersonian grace and first one female politelybegs permission to remove one of her tidies from yourhat; then they will file into the next room, one by one, tosee how La Americanos' sombrero becomes them, whileanother removes a white, delicately constructed thingfrom your "tournure" (what they dote on), which latter they have been dying to closely inspect, and to findhow you manage to have it hang so prettily. And afteryou remove another tidy which has become fastened toyour heel (although you can't imagine how), you detachyet another from the side trimmings of your dress. Bythat time you are flustered, forget the Andersonian grace,and utter some emphatic words about tidies and tidy matters in general, and sit down with a real Castletoniankick.

The sala is not complete without at least two cabinetsto hold the overflow of the center table. In all the oddcorners are pedestals on which are statuettes in marble,bronze, or plaster-of-Paris, just as the owner's purse permits. Tropical plants in quaint jars of Indian designand construction and rustic stands are grouped about,and parrots, mocking-birds, and gayly-colored birds ofhigh and low voices complete the attractions of the beautiful Mexican sala.

CHAPTER XXIX.

IN MEXICO.

BENEATH the Mexican skies, where everybody treatslife as if it were one long holiday, they love with a passion as fervent as their Southern sun, but – on one sideat least – as brilliant and transient as a shooting star.Yet there is a fascination about it which makes theAmerican love very insipid in comparison.

In childhood, boys and girls are never permitted to betogether. There is no rather sweet remembrance ofwhen we first began to love, or having to stand with ourface in the corner for passing "love letters," or the funof playing "Copenhagen" when we didn't run one bithard. It is only of a dirty little schoolroom filled withdusky ninos, all of the same wearing apparel, who studied "out loud;" a fat little teacher who never wore tightdresses, and who only combed her hair "after the senoritas had gone home." A scolding French master and anequally bad music master completes the memories.

When Mexican damsels reach that "hood" which permits of long dresses and big bustles, they are in feverishexpectation until, during a walk or drive, a flash from apair of soft, black eyes tells its tale and a pair of starryones sends back a swift reply, and with a tender sigh sherealizes she has learned that which comes into the livesof them all. That night she peeps from behind her curtains and watches him promenade the opposite sidewalkback and forth, the gaslight throwing his shadow manyfeet in advance, which, she vows – next to him – is themost beautiful thing she ever gazed upon. She does notshow herself the first time or does he expect it. Modestyor custom prevents. Just as he takes off his hat tobreathe a farewell to her balcony, a white handkerchiefflutters forth for an instant, he kisses his finger tips,the light goes out, and both retire, longing for manananoche.

Time goes on, and she gets bold enough to stand onthe balcony, in full glare of the laughing moon, whilst hewalks just beneath her. When it rains he will standthere until hat and clothing are ruined, to show his devotion. When she goes for a walk he is sure to followslowly behind, and if chance offers he touches his hatslightly, and she with upraised hand deftly gives thepretty Mexican salutation. When the novelty wears offall this, she gets a pencil, paper, and cord, with whichshe transfers to him those sweet, soft little nothingswhich the love-stricken are so fond of, and the fair fisheress never draws in an empty line; hers are but therepetition of what almost any love-sick maiden wouldpen – badly written and mis-spelled, it is true; his issomething of this style:

"BEAUTIFUL, ENTRANCING ANGEL, – Your lovingslave has been made to feel the bliss of heaven by yourgracious and pleasing condescension to notice his maddening devotion for you. I long to touch your exquisitehand that I may be made to realize my happiness isearthly. Life has lost all charms for me except beneathyour fortunate balcony which has the honor of your presence. Only bless me with a smile and I am forever yourmost devoted, who lives only to promote your happiness.

"YOUR SERVANT WHO BENDS TO KISS YOUR HAND."

Every letter ends with this last, as we end ours "Respectfully." If they do not care to write it out fully theyput only the initials for every word. If a girl is inclinedto flirt she may have several "bears," but her fingers tella different hour for each. If two should meet they inquire the other's mission, and their hot blood leads theminto a duel – which, however, is less frequent of lateyears. No difference how much a girl may care for aduelist, she does not see him after he has fought for her.

Winter comes at last, and with it the annual receptionsof the different clubs. A mutual understanding andmany fond hearts beat in anticipation of the event. Oncethere they forget the eyes of their chaperons, and intheir adorers' arms they dance the Spanish love-dance.It is really the danza. At all receptions it comes in everyother dance and is played twice the length of any. It isthe one moment of a Mexican's life, and I assure youthey improve it. The danza is rather peculiar, and notat all pleasing to an Americana. It is nearly the waltzstep reduced to a slow, graceful motion; the high heelsand tight boots prevent any swift movement; the gentleman takes the lady in his arms and she does likewise withhim – as nearly as possible – and in this way they danceabout three minutes, then encircling, as two lovingschoolgirls walk along, they advance, and, clasping handswith the nearest couple, the four dance together for alittle while and then separate; this repeated by the hourconstitutes the Spanish danza. Uninterrupted conversation is held continually as the girl's cheek rests againstthe gentleman's shoulder. Love is whispered, proposalsare made, and arrangements for future actions perfected.

When parents notice a "bear," if they are favorablyinclined, they invite him in, where he can see the objectof his adoration hemmed in on either side by petticoatsof forbidding aspect. When he once enters the house itmeans that he has been accepted as the girl's husband,and there is no "backing out." The father sets a timefor a private interview and when he calls they settle allbusiness points: As to what the daughter receives at thefather's death, when the marriage shall take place, wherethe bride is to live and how much the intended husbandhas to support her; the lawyer finishes all arrangementsand escorts the engaged pair to a magistrate, where acivil marriage is performed – that their children may belegal heirs to their property. Even after this they arenot permitted to be alone together; the intended bridegroom buys all the wedding outfit, for the bride is notallowed to take even a collar from what her father boughtfor her before.

The final ceremony is performed in a church by a padre,who sprinkles the young couple with holy water andhands an engagement ring to the groom, which he putson the little finger of his bride, then the padre puts amarriage ring on both the bride and groom. Afterwhich, holding on to the priest's vestments, they proceedto the altar, where they kneel while he puts a lace scarfaround their shoulders and a silver chain over their heads;symbolic that they are bound together irrevocably, asthere is no such thing as divorce in Mexico. After massis said the marriage festivities take place and last aslong as the husband cares to pay for them, anywherefrom three days to a month, and then, like the last sceneon the stage, the curtain goes down, lights are put out,and you see no more of the actors who pleased your fancyfor a short time.

The husband puts his wife in his home, which is henceforth the extent of her life. She is devoted, tender, andtrue, as she has been taught. She expects nothing except to see that the servants attend to the children andhousehold matters – and she gets only what she expects.He finds divers amusem*nts, for, according to the customs of his country, his "illusion" (what they call love)dies after a few days spent alone with his bride, and heonly returns at stated intervals to fondle or whip his captive – just as fancy dictates. The men discuss at theclub the fact that he has more loves than one, but theyall have, and it excites no censure. But the world cannever know what the bride thinks; private affairs arenever made public. He can even kill her, as did theirpredecessor Cortes, and it will excite little or no comment. When matured years come on, she loses whatgood looks she had; three hundred pounds is nothing forweight, and on her lip grows a heavy, black mustache.She cares for nothing but sleeping, eating, drinking, andsmoking the perpetual cigarette. And in this way endsthe fair Mexican's brief dream of the grande passion.

CHAPTER XXX.

SCENES WITHIN MEXICAN HOMES.

THE City of Mexico makes many bright promises forthe future. As a winter resort, as a summer resort, acity for men to accumulate fortunes, a paradise for students, for artists; a rich field for the hunter of the curious, the beautiful and the rare, its bright future is notfar distant. Already its wonders are related to the enterprising people of the States, who are making toursthrough the land that held cities even at the time of thediscovery of America.

The Mexican Central road, although completed onlyfive years ago, offers every, and even more, comforts thanold established eastern roads. Many excursionists havehad delightful visits here, and at present a number ofQuakers have come to see for themselves what Mexicooffers. One of the party was quizzing Mr. Theo. Gestefeld, editor of the Two Republics, on the advisability ofopening a mission for the poor and degraded of Mexico.Mr. Gestefeld is a first-class newspaper man, formerlyemployed on the Chicago Tribune, and has a practicaland common sense way of viewing things. His replyshould be studied by all coming to Mexico to stay. Hesaid: "Their religion has been the people's faith always,even before Americans lived. They are fanatics, andtrying to change or convert them is wasting time. Lettheir faith alone, and go out and buy a farm on the table lands and teach them how to farm and how to live. Youwill find them ready, willing, even anxious to learn.They will quickly imitate any way they know is betterthan theirs." The Quaker is still here, but, so far asknown, has neither started a mission nor bought a farm.

Mexico is colder these last few days than the traditional oldest inhabitant ever remembered, but it is apleasant change to the visitors who have left the snowbound country, even if a fire is an unheard-of thing.

People who read history form wrong ideas of howMexican houses are built. They are square, plasteredoutside and decorated. Many are three and four storiesin height. The windows, which are always curtained,are finished with iron balconies. Massive doors, onwhich are ponderous knockers of antique shape and size,keep from view the inhabitants of the Casa. A knock,and the doors swing open and a brown portero, dressedin the garb of his country, sombrero, serape and all, admits you to the lower court, where the stables are keptand the servants live. Beautiful flowers, rare orchids,and tall, waving palms are growing in rich profusion.Directly up through the center is a large, open square;a stairway, decorated in the highest style of art, leads tothe different departments. Fine statuary, singing birdsand fountains mingling with the flowers aid in makingthe scene superb.

Just the opposite of the States, the higher up a roomis the better it is considered, and in hotels they chargeaccordingly, $1 first floor; $2 second; $3 third, and so.on. A room is not healthy unless the sun shines into it;and they have no windows – just glass doors.

All the hotels in Mexico are run on the European plan.They have restaurants attached where the waiters, aslong as they smile, cannot do too much for their customers. Mexico has several good hotels, of their kind,and most of them equal, if they are not superior, to theIturbide – pronounced Eeturbeda – but Americans whorun after royalty want to stop here so they can say theyhave stayed at thehouse which was thepalace of the firstemperor after Mexicowas independent.

Mexico looks thesame all over, everywhite street terminates at the foot of asnow-capped mountain, look which wayyou will; the streetsare named verystrangely, onestraight street having half a dozennames. Each squarehas a different name,or designated asFirst San Francisco;the next blockSecond San Francisco. Policemenstand in the middleof the street all over the city, reminding one of so manyposts. They wear white caps with numbers on, bluesuits, nickel buttons. A mace now takes the place ofthe sword of former days. At night they don an overcoat and hood, which makes them look just like the pictures of veiled knights. Their red lanterns are left in theplace they occupied during the daytime, while they retireto some doorway where, it is said, they sleep as soundlyas their brethren in the States. At intervals they blowa whistle like those used by street car drivers, which areanswered by those on the next posts; thus they know allis well. In small towns they call out the time of night,ending up with tiempo sereno (all serene), from whichthe Mexican youth, with some mischievous Yankeeism,have nicknamed them Sereno.

It is very easy for those unaccompanied and not speaking Spanish to get around in Mexico. A baggage manmeets the train out from the city, who not only attendsto his regular duties, but gives any information regardinghotels that visitors may want. Numerous carriages ofall kinds and descriptions, stand around the depot. Eachone is decorated with a flag, by which the visitor mayknow the price without asking. White, red, and blue: fifty cents, seventy-five cents, and one dollar. The driversoften try to get the best of a tourist, especially if hespeaks Spanish, and charge him one dollar for a seventy-five cent carriage. The Mexicans do not differ muchfrom the Yankee hackman. If any, it is in favor of theMexican. They do not cheat so much, because they arenot sharp enough.

Pulque shops, where they deal out the national drink,are quite plenty. These are the only buildings in thecity that are decorated. They are generally cornerbuildings, and the two sides have finely-painted picturesof ladies, ballet-girls, men on gayly-caparisoned horses,angels floating on clouds, etc. Numerous flags of blackand red, or red and white, answer for a sign, but it isagainst the law to use the national flag. These saloons,or shops, as they are called, stand wide open, with noscreens to hide the dirty bar and drinkers from the eyesof pedestrians. They are patronized by men, women,and children, and are kept open all the time.

Pulque is the fermented juice of the agave, or so-calledcentury plant, which matures in from five to fifteenyears, instead of one hundred as generally believed. Itgrows wild here, but large plantations of it are cultivated.Just before the plant is ready to blossom the nativesgather the big fat leaves together, around the bud, forming a sort of basin. The bud is then cut out and thejuice from the stalk collects in the leaf-formed basin.One stalk will yield as high as two gallons a day for sixmonths.

The pulque is collected in jars that the gatherers carrysuspended from their shoulders. It is sucked out ofthe basin through a hollow bamboo or reed, and squirtedfrom the mouth into the jar. A knowledge of this factdoes not render the stuff any more palatable to foreigners. It is awfully nasty stuff, but they say that when youget acquainted with it you like it real well.

Mescal is a sort of brandy distilled from pulque, andwill paralyze almost as promptly as a stroke of lightning.Metheglin – honey and water – is made from the honeyant; they are placed in a piece of bolting cloth and thehoney squeezed out of them.

The street-car system here is quite unique. But firsta few statistics may prove interesting; they run on ninetymiles of rails, and carried last year nine million passengers; the company owns one thousand five hundredmules and horses, one hundred and thirty-nine first-classcoaches, sixty-five second-class, forty-six platform orfreight cars, and twenty-six funeral cars. They pay anannual dividend of six per cent, on a capital of $5,000,000. The Chairman of the Board of Directors, SenorCastillo, speaks Spanish and English; they are veryparticular about free passes, and so far this year haveonly issued six.

First-class cars are exactly like those in the States,and the second-class look just like the "Black Maria,"except the wheels. Cars, just like open freight or truckcars on railroads, are used for hauling instead of wagons,and a dozen of these, loaded with merchandize, aredrawn by one team. Movings and everything arehauled in this manner; the price charged is comparatively small. Cars do not run singly, but in groups offour and five. Even on the first-class cars men smoke asmuch as they wish, and if the women find it unbearablethey go out and stand on the platform; there are twoconductors on each car; one sells the tickets, the othercollects them.

When the line was first opened an enterprising stockholder bought up all the hearses in the city and had funeral cars made. The coffin is laid on one draped car;white for young and black for old, and the mourners andfriends follow in street cars hired for the purpose. Astylish funeral will have a dozen or more cars, the windows of which are hung with white crepe, and the doorswith black; the drivers and conductors appear in blacksuits and high, silk hats; the horses are draped, and haveblack and white plumes on their heads. The cost of funerals ranges from $20 to $1500. A stylish one is a beautiful sight; the poor, by making application to the police, are given the funeral car and passage for two persons free; the low and poverty-stricken class also hire thecoffins, and when they reach the cemetery the corpse istaken out, wrapped in a serape and consigned to a hiredgrave – that is, they buy the grave for five years, at theend of which time the bones are lifted and thrown in somecorner, exposed to the gaze of the public, in order tomake room for new-comers, and the tombstones – thenuseless – are laid in one heap by the gate. The peopleare no respecters of human bones; Americans alwayswant to go back to the States to die.

Street car drivers, of which there are two on each car,are compelled by law to blow a horn at every crossing towarn pedestrians of their coming; the horns are similar,in tone and shape, to those used by fish peddlers in theStates. Drivers of every kind of vehicles use the longlash whip of plaited leather exclusively, and they plythem quite vigorously on their animals; they also urgethem to faster speed by a sound similar to that which thevillain on the stage makes as he creeps upon intendedvictims when asleep, with his finger on his lips. Itsounds like a whip lash cutting through the air.The carts in use here are of the most ancient shapeand style; two large, wooden wheels support a big squarebox. One mule is hitched next to the wagon, and threeabreast in front of that, and one still ahead; the harnessbaffles description. Drivers very seldom ride, but trotalong beside their team with rope lines in their hands;they can trot at the speed of the mules with apparentcomfort.

Mexico does not breakfast. When people go into therestaurants and order a breakfast the waiters look at themin wonder, and inform them in the most polite terms inthe world that they have but coffee and dry bread forbreakfast. It is asserted that to eat breakfast will causea heaviness and dullness for the entire day, but whetherthis is true or otherwise, it cannot be stated, for sinceour arrival in Mexico we have been unable to find anyother than as before mentioned – and black coffee at that.Every family takes their coffee in their bedrooms. Ittakes at least two hours to get through an ordinary dinner.

A description of dinner in a private family will, nodoubt, prove interesting to most readers, especially ifthey understand the difficulty of obtaining admissioninto a family. AMexican will be allpoliteness, will doanything for you, willplace his house atyour service, but heand his family willmove out. He willdo anything but admit you to the secrecy of his house.So this experience israre.

Dinner was announced and thegentlemen, in themost courteous manner, offered theirarms, and we walkedalong the balcony tothe dining-room.The lace-hung doorswere swung open,and there before us was the table with plate, knife andfork, and a penny loaf of bread at each place. We sitdown, take our napkins, and the waiters – always men – fill our glasses from the elegant water bottles that graceeach end of the table. One dish, containing, perhaps,cold meat, salad, red pepper, radishes, and pickled beans,is served on plates, and the first ones taken away fromus, although not used. After endeavoring to swallowsome of this nauseating stuff, which the natives devourwith relish, the servant removes the dish, our plates,knives and forks, and another equally strange and equallydetestable dish is brought on. Thus the feast continues,meanwhile breaking the penny loaf in bits and eatingwithout a spread.

Butter, which commands $1 a pound, is never seenfrom one year's end to another, and jelly is an unheard-of dish. The last dish, and one that is never omittedfrom dinner or supper, is frijoles – pronounced free-holies – consists of beans, brown ones, with a sort ofgravy over them. If a Bostonian were but to visit thiscountry his intellectual stomach, or appetite, would besated for once. Sliced orange, covered with sugar andcinnamon, is dessert, after which comes chocolate or coffee; the former superb, the latter miserable. With thecoffee the ladies and gentlemen smoke their cigarettes.

Children are really good here, their reverence for theirparents being something beautiful. When entering thedining room each one kisses its mother's hand, and whenshe asks them if they wish such and such to eat theyreply: "With your permission." Although all aresmokers they could not be persuaded to take a cigarettein their mother's presence. The pulque, which is alsogiven around with the coffee, they refuse through respectto their mother; but they drink when she is not by, andof course she is aware of the fact, and has no desire toprohibit them from it. It is just their form of respectto refrain in her presence. A Mexican could not becompelled to eat of two different dishes from one plate.Even the smallest child is proof against persuasion onthis point.

The frijoles, or beans, are served on a tortilla, a sortof corn-cake baked in the shape of a buckwheat cake.Another tortilla is folded together, and answers for aspoon. After finishing the beans it is not consideredproper or polite unless you eat your spoon and plate.

Every family has at least half a dozen servants. Theyare considered excellent when they receive five dollars amonth, and board themselves. Sometimes they are paidthree dollars a month, and allowed six cents a day to furnish what they want to eat. This sum is called theretainer. Women do the cooking, and the men wait onthe tables, make the beds and nurse the babies. Contrary to the usual report, they are very, very cleanly.Every room in the house is swept daily; balconies anduncarpeted rooms scrubbed as often. Beds, which arein hospitals, haveboard or iron bottoms, and the hardest of hard pillows.

Brooms are an unseen article, notwithstanding the countryfurnishes the mostbeautiful broom cornin the world. It isbought in bunchesand tied to a shortstick, and used inthat manner, forcingthe sweeper to bendnearly double. Scrubbrushes are but abunch of coarse strawtied around the topwith a string, butthey make the floorsperfectly white. There is a fortune here awaiting somelively fellow who will bring machinery and make broomsand brushes for the natives; the straw costs comparativelynothing, and is of the very best quality.

Lotteries swarm here, and are a curse to the poor.Men, women, and children sell the tickets along thestreets, and the poor have such a mania for buying thatthey will pawn their clothing in order to obtain a ticket.

There are no newsboys in this country. Occasionallya boy is seen with a package of papers, but he does notcall out like they do in the States. Women generallysell papers, which they fold and hold out toward passers-by, never saying a word.

The people appear just the opposite of lazy. Theymove along the streets with a trot, equal in speed to theburro; they never turn their heads to gaze at a stranger,but go along intent on their own affairs as if they realizedthe value of time and shortness of life.

Ladies in the States should import their servants fromMexico. Their hire is a very little sum: they furnishtheir own food; they are the most polite, most obedient people alive, and are faithful. Their only fault – and a very common one with servants – is that they areslow, but not extremely so. To children they are mostdevoted; as nurses they are unexcelled; their love forchildren amounts to a passion, a mania. As a commonthing here, a girl of thirteen is not happy unless she hasa baby; but with all that they are most generous withthem. Much amusem*nt was caused the other day by anAmerican asking a pretty little black-eyed girl if thebouncing babe tied to her back was hers. "Si, senor,and yours, too," she replied, politely.

The men share the troubles of nursing with thewomen, and the babies, tied on their mother's or father'sback, seem as content as if they were rocked in downycradles. Babies, as soon as born, are clad in pantaloonsand loose waist, irrespective of sex. There are no three-yard skirts on them. Boys retain this garb, but girls,when able to walk, are wrapped twice around the bodywith a straight cloth which serves for skirts.

If you ask a native in regard to the sex of a baby hewill not say it is a boy or it is a girl, but "el hombre" (aman) or "la mujer" (the woman.) All efforts fail tomake them say "hijo" (son) or "hija" (daughter).

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE ROMANCE OF THE MEXICAN PULQUE.

THE maguey plant is put to as many uses by the Mexicans as the cocoa palm is by the South Sea Islanders.All around Mexico, even on the barren plains wherenothing else can exist, it grows in abundance. Its leavesare ten and more feet in length, a foot in breadth andabout eight inches thick. Of course, there are smallerand larger growths, according to their age. After collecting strength for about seven years it sprouts from thecenter a giant flower stalk, twenty or thirty feet high,on which often cluster three thousand flowers of a greenish yellow color. These wonderful plants in bloom alongthe plains form one of the most magnificent sights inMexico. At the very least, forty have been seen at oneplace, each vieing with the other to put forth the mostbeauty.

A prince named Papautzin, of the noble blood of theToltec, discovered some fluid in a plant whose floweringspike had been accidentally broken off. After saving itfor some time, he had the curiosity to taste it, and thattaste was not only delicious to him, but was destined tomoisten the throat and muddle the brain of the Mexicansfor generations and generations, and to cause the curiousand ever inquiring tourist to do like the whale did at thetaste of Jonah. This noble prince was not like an Eastern Yankee; he did not keep his month shut until he obtained a patent. If he had, telephones and gas wellswould be nowhere in comparison as a money-makingscheme. He kindly sent some to his sovereign by hisbeautiful daughter, Xochitl, the flower of Tollan. Thenoble king drank and looked, looked and drank – themore he drank the more he liked the stuff; the more helooked the more he liked the girl. So he kept her, a willing prisoner, and their son was placed upon thethrone.

Generations after generations rolled by lovely Xochitl.The king, their son, and the illustrious discoverer hadsolved the wonderful problem. The maguey plant wascultivated by thousands, and oceans of its fluid had gonedown the throats of the natives. This was the origin ofthe Mexican national drink, pulque. No estimate can beformed of the amount used, but it is enormous. It issimply water for the natives, and a pulque shop graces,almost invariably, every corner in the cities. As statedin a former chapter, these shops are the finest decoratedplaces in Mexico. Superb paintings of all scenes gracethe interior and exterior; flags float gracefully over thedoors, and customers are always plenty. Men, women,and children can be seen constantly drinking from claypitchers of a generous size, for the full of which theypay but two cents. No respectable Mexican would entera pulque shop, but they all drink it at every meal.

The maguey is planted at the interval of three yardsapart, and in such a manner that every way you lookacross an estate the plants run in a straight line; theythrive in almost any soil, and after planting need no moreattention until the time of flowering, which is anywherefrom six to ten years. The Indians know by infalliblesigns just when the flowering stem will appear, and atthat time they cut out the whole heart, leaving only athick outside, which forms a natural basin. Into thisthe sap continually oozes, and it is removed twice, sometimes thrice a day by a peon, who sucks it into his mouthand then ejects it into the jar he carries on his back. Assoon as the plant exhausts all this sap, which was originally intended to give strength and life to the floweringstem, it dies, and is replaced by innumerable suckers fromthe old root. Great care must be exercised in cuttingthe plant – if the least too soon or too late, it is the deathof it.

When first extracted the sap is extremely sweet, fromwhich it derives its name, aguamiel (honey water).Some of this is fermented for fifteen and twenty-fivedays, when it is called madre pulque (the mother ofpulque). This is distributed in very small quantitiesamong different pigskins; then the fresh is poured on it,and in twenty-four hours it is ready for sale. Plantsready to cut are valued at about $5, but an establishedmaguey ground will produce a revenue of $10,000 to$15,000 per annum. Pulque is brought to town in pigand goat skins. It has a peculiar sour-milkish taste, andsmells exactly like hop yeast.

From the mild pulque is distilled a rum called mescal.It is of a lovely brown, golden color, and very pleasantto the taste. One can drink it all night, be as drunk asa lord, and have no big head in the morning. If it wasonce introduced into the States nothing else would beused, for no difference how much is drank, the head isas clear and bright as the teetotaler's in the morning.Nor is this the only use of the plant. Poor people rooftheir huts with the leaves, placing one on the other likeshingles. The hollowed leaf serves as a trough for conducting the water. The sharp thorns are stripped off,leaving the fibers attached, and the natives use them as aneedle, already threaded. Paper is made from the pulpof the leaves, and twine and thread from their fibers.The twine is woven into rugs, mats, sacks, ropes, harness, even to the bits, and dainty little purses, whichtourists buy up like precious articles.

The wonderful productive powers of this plant do notend here. The expensive cochineal bug, used for coloring purposes and for paint, counts this maguey its foster-mother. On its wide leaves does it live externally andinternally until the gatherer comes and plucks it off,probably to color some dainty maid's gown in the far distant land or tint some sky of an artist's dream.

Yet maguey thinks it has not done enough for mortals,and it accomplishes one more thing for which the Mexicanswould treasure its memory but Americans would gladlyexcuse it. Clinging to the shadiest side, in a childlikeconfidence, is a long green worm, similar to the unkillable cabbage worm of the States. Peons in a gentle manner, so as not to crush or hurt, pluck these tender youngthings, and, putting them in a vessel, bring the fruits oftheir work to town. Nothing can be compared to theway and haste in which people buy them. Fried in butter, a little brown milk gravy around, and they are set onthe table as the greatest delicacy of all Mexican dishes.It is needless to add that the natives eat them with wonderful relish, and are quick to say "We know what thesedainty things are, but you folks eat oysters!"

CHAPTER XXXII.

MEXCIAN MANNERS

AMONG the most interesting things in Mexico are thecustoms followed by the people, which are quaint, and,in many cases, pretty and pleasing. Mexican politeness,while not always sincere, is vastly more agreeable thanthe courtesy current among Americans. Their pleasingmanners seem to be inborn, yet the Mexican of Spanishdescent cannot excel the Indian in courtesy, who, thoughignorant, unable to read or write, could teach politenessto a Chesterfield. The moment they are addressed theirhat is in hand. If they wish to pass they first beg yourpermission, Even a child, when learning to talk is theperfection of courtesy. If you ask one its name it willtell you, and immediately add, "I am your servant" or"Your servant to command." This grows with them,and when past childhood they are as near perfection inthis line as it is possible to be.

When woman meets woman then doesn't come "thetug of war," but instead the "hug and kissing;" thekissing is never on the lips, but while one kisses a friendon the right cheek, she is being kissed on the left, andthen they change off and kiss the other side. Both sidesmust be kissed; this is repeated according to the familiarity existing between them, but never on the lips, although with an introduction the lips are touched. Thehug – well, it is given in the same place as it is in othercountries, and in a right tight and wholly earnest manner. From the first moment they are expected to addresseach other only by their Christian names, the familyname never being used.

The parlor furniture is arranged the same all overMexico; the sofa is placed against the wall and thechairs form a circle around it; the visitor is given thesofa, which is the "seat of honor," and the family sit inthe circle, the eldest nearest the sofa; the visitor expectsto be asked to play the piano, which she does in finestyle, and then the hostess must play after her or commita breach of courtesy, which social crime she also commitsif she neglects to ask the guest to play; visitors alwaysstay half a day, and before leaving she is treated to a dishof fine dulce, a sweet dessert, cigarettes and wine; thenmantillas are put on, blessings, good wishes, kisses andembraces are exchanged, each says "My house is yours; Iam your servant," and depart. All the rules of decorumhave been obeyed.

When men are introduced they clasp hands, not theway Americans do, but with thumbs interlocked, andembrace with the left arm; then the left hands areclasped and they embrace with the right arm, pattingthe back in a hearty manner; the more intimate they become the closer the embrace, and it is not unusual to seemen kiss; these embraces are not saved for private orhome use, but are as frequent on the streets as hat tipping is here; the hand clasping is both agreeable andhearty. They clasp hands every time they part, if it beonly for an hour's duration, and again when they meet,and when careless Americans forget the rule they votethem very rude and ill-bred. Undoubtedly, as a nation,we are.

On the street a woman is not permitted to recognize aman first. She must wait until he lifts his shining silkhat; then she raises her hand until on a level with herface, turns the palm inward, with the fingers pointingtoward the face, then holds the first and fourth fingersstill, and moves the two center ones in a quick motion;the action is very pretty, and the picture of grace whendone by a Mexican senora, but is inclined to deceive thegreen American, and lead him to believe it is a gesturecalling him to her side. When two women walk alongtogether the youngest is always given the inside of thepavement, or if the younger happens to be married, shegets the outside – they are quite strict about this; also, ifa gentleman is with a mother and daughters, he mustwalk with the mother and the girls must walk beforethem. A woman who professes Christianity will not weara hat or bonnet to church, but gracefully covers her headwith a lace mantilla. No difference how nicely she isclad, she is not considered dressed in good taste unlesspowdered and painted, to the height reached only bychorus girls. Four years ago, the Americans tell me, theMexican women promenaded the streets and parks andtook drives in ball-dresses, low neck, sleeveless, and withenormous trains; this has almost been stopped, althoughthe finest of dresses, vivid in color, and only suitable forhouse or reception wear, are yet worn on Sundays.

Everybody wears jewelry, not with good taste, butpiled on recklessly. I have seen men with rings on everyfinger, always excepting the thumb; and the cologne used is something wonderful. You can smell it whilethey are a square off, and it is discernible when they areout of sight. A man is not considered fashionable unlesshe parts his hair in the middle, from his forehead to thenape of his neck, and dress it a la pompadour. Thehandkerchief is always carried folded in a square, and isused alternately to wipe his dainty little low-cut bootsand the face. Afterward it is refolded and replaced inthe pocket.

Visitors are always expected to call first to see theirfriends when in town, as it would be a great breach ofdecorum for a family to call on a visitor before he or shecame to their house. If two or more people meet in aroom and are not acquainted they must speak, but notshake hands; they can converse until some one comes,when they will accept an introduction and embrace, as ifthey had just that instant met. When one occupies abench in the park with a stranger neither must departwithout bidding the other farewell, and very often whilemurmuring adieus they clasp hands and lift hats.

Mexicans in talking employ a number of signs, whichmean as much to them and are as plainly understood asEnglish words would be to us. They speak their sign-language gracefully; indeed, they are a very gracefulpeople, and yet they never study it or give it a thought.When they want a waiter in a restaurant, or a man onthe streets, they never call or whistle, as we would do,but simply clap the hands several times and the wantedparty comes. The system is very convenient, and farmore pleasing than the American plan. When wishingto beckon any one, they throw the hand from them inthe same manner as Americans do if they want any oneto move on. To go away, they hold the fingers togetherand move them toward the body.

They never say that a man is drunk; it sounds vulgar,and, as they will "get that way," they merely place theindex finger on the temple and incline the head slightlytoward the person meant. They could never be abruptenough to say any one was crazy or had no brains, so theytouch the forehead, between the eyebrows, with the firstfinger. To speak of money they form a circle of thethumb and forefinger; to ask you to take a drink or tellthe servants to bring one, the thumb is turned towardthe mouth; to ask you to wait a little while, the firstfinger is held within a quarter of an inch of the thumb.To hold the palm upward, and slowly move the handbackward and forward, says as plain as English "I amgoing to whip my wife," or "I whip my wife." If theywant you to play a game at cards, they close both fistsand hold them tightly together. Touching the thumbrapidly with the four fingers closed means you have muchor many of anything, like many friends. Making a scissors sign with the fist and second finger means you arecutting some one in the back. Whittling one forefingerwith the other means "you got left." When courtingon the balcony and the girl smooths her lip and chin, youare warned to get out; "the old man is coming." Incompany, when one is so unfortunate as to sneeze, theyare greatly insulted, and the company is badly wantingin good manners unless, just as the sneeze is finished,every one ejacul*tes "Jesu," "Jesucristo."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

NOCHE TRISTE TREE.

I PRESUME everybody who knows anything about history remembers reading how Cortez, when he thought hewas going to lose the fight for Mexico, on July 10th, 1520,retired under a tree and wept.

Since that time the tree has been known to the inhabitants as the Noche Triste (the sad night). It standsbefore an ancient chapel, in a public square of the littlevillage of Popotla. I don't know why, for I could neverthink of Cortez except as a thieving murderer, but theNoche Triste receives a great deal of attention from thenatives and all the tourists. On the second of May,1872, the tree was found to be on fire. A citizen ofPopotla, Senor Jose Maria Enriquez, who venerated theold relic, followed by hundreds of people, rushed to itsrescue.

They did what they could with buckets, and at lasttwo hand pumps were brought from an adjoining college.It is said that fully five thousand people visited the burning tree that day. After burning for twenty-four hoursthe flames were conquered. Since then Noche Triste hasbeen inclosed by a high, iron fence; despite the fire it isyet a grand old tree.

Everybody visits the cathedral of Mexico. It is agrand old building, of enormous size, and covered withcarved figures, facing the zocalo. It is surrounded bywell-kept gardens, in which are many beautiful statuesand ancient Aztec figures. In the cathedral is the tombof the Emperor Yturbide, and superb paintings, some byMurillo. The history of the cathedral is interesting; itwas the church of Santa Maria de la Asuncion untilJanuary 31, 1545, when it was declared the metropolitancathedral of Mexico.

Philip II. issued a royal decree that the cathedralshould correspond to the magnificence of the city, and in1573 the work was begun. It occupies the very groundon which stood the principal temple of the Aztecs; thesite was bought from the Franciscan monks for forty dollars.

A period of forty-two years was consumed in laying thefoundations, raising the exterior walls, building thetransverse walls of the chapels, working the columns tothe height of the capitals, and making some progressupon the domes.

The architecture of this temple pertains to the Doricorder. The structure is one hundred and thirty-threeSpanish yards in length, and seventy-four in width. Inhas one hundred and seventy-four windows, and isdivided into five naves, the principal one of whichmeasures fifty-three feet in width from column to column.The aisles correspond in number to the thirty-threechapels, formed by twenty pillars, ten on each side;from base to capital the pillars measure fifty-four feet inheight, and fourteen in circumference. The roof is composed of fifty-one domes or vaults, resting upon seventy-four arches. The church is pyramidal in form, itsheight diminishing in regular proportion from the mainnave to the chapels. There are three entrance-doors onthe southern front, two on the northern, and two on eachof the sides.

After ninety-five years of continual work, the finalsolemn dedication was celebrated December 22, 1677.

The cost of the cathedral, exclusive of the externaldecoration, at least of the Sagrario, amounted to $1,752,000, so that it may well be said that two and a halfmillion dollars were invested in the two churches, whoseerection extended over more than a century.

During my six months in Mexico I received hundredsof letters from men asking my advice about their coming to Mexico for business purposes. I never give advice, but if I were a man and had a certain amount ofpatience I should go to Mexico. If one can get used tothe people and their manana movements, the place isperfect, The land, in most localities, is the easiest im-aginable to cultivate. A farmer can have as many harvests a year as he has space. He can sow in one placeand harvest in another, so perfect is the climate. Theonly complaint is of the lack of water, but as it is alwaysto be found six feet under the surface of the earth onecan have it. Anything will grow if put in the ground.I visited one place that had been barren three yearsprevious, and it was the most beautiful garden spot inMexico. The trees were equal to any nine year old treesin the States. There is no weather to interfere withtheir growth.

A great number of Englishmen, Germans and Frenchhave settled in Mexico, and by their thrift are accumulating fortunes rapidly. Barring a little dislike, theAmericans have the same chances.

Mexico produces better broom-corn than the UnitedStates, and for the smallest possible cost and trouble.Very few farmers interest themselves in broom-corn, sothere is a place for Americans to step in and make money.

Silk culture could also be made one of Mexico's principal industries. It can be carried on with little or nocapital. Any one who possesses a few mulberry treescan, without abandoning his regular work, care for silkworms. An ounce of silk-worm eggs costs five dollars,and it will produce not less than fifty kilogrammes ofcocoons that are worth one dollar per kilogramme.

It is only necessary to buy eggs the first time, for theworms keep producing them. The mulberry tree thrivesin all parts of Mexico and the silk-worm needs no protection of any kind from the climate, nor are they subjected to diseases here which elsewhere cause great loss.It costs less to raise silk-worms in Mexico than in Europe, and a far better quality are produced. Mulberryshoots will produce sufficient foliage to maintain silkworms within three years after planting.

The eggs, while containing the embryo silk-worm, havea dull lavender color, but after discharging the wormthey resembled little sugar pills. The worms were aboutone-sixteenth of an inch long, but the first week of moulting shows them to be half an inch long and the secondweek one inch. For the third moulting they are placedon perforated paper, through the holes of which theworms crawl. This relieves the attendant of considera-ble labor in transferring them. The fourth week thehead is white, and the worm has attained its normalgrowth. There is nothing now for the worm to do butloaf around and lunch on mulberry leaves until the eighthor ninth day after shedding its skin the fourth time,when he or she, as the case may be, proceeds to form itscocoon. It is then of a golden transparent color. Ittakes about five days for the industrious worm to finish*ts cocoon. Then, to destroy the moth inside, it is subjected to heat, and the cocoon is then ready for spinning.

When ready for use the cocoons are soaked in a tub ofwater until all the glutinous substance is removed.With a small whisk-broom the cocoon is brushed untilends, which are as fine as a cobweb, come loose. Theywill then reel off without breaking. One cocoon willgive four hundred yards of raw silk.

Indian rubber trees are also easily cultivated in Mexico, and the demand for them is large. It's easy to makea comfortable income in Mexico, if one goes about itrightly.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

LITTLE NOTES OF INTEREST.

SUPERSTITION is the ruin of Mexico. While we werethere some children found a shell containing an image ofthe Virgin. The matter was deemed miraculous, andthey directly decided to build a chapel on the spot wherethe shell was found.

In the State of Morelos exists a stone that they say wasused before the conquest to call the people to labor or towar. The stone appears to be hewn. In the center ofthe upper part is a hole which runs into the heart of thestone, forming a spiral. On fitting to this a mouthpiece and blowing, the sound of a horn is produced, somewhat melancholy in tone, but so loud that it can be hearda great distance; the ranchmen of that locality employit as a means of calling their flocks and the animalsquickly obey the summons. It is known as the "CallingStone."

There is a tradition about this stone; they say that nodifference where it is taken, that by some invisible meansit always goes back to the spot it has occupied for thepast century. They say that once it was even chained ina cellar, but in the morning it was missing, and whenthey searched for it, it was found in its old position.

Mexico abounds with the most beautiful and wonderful flowers. Many are unknown even to horticulturists.One of the novel flowers I heard of was one which grewon the San Jose hacienda, some twenty-two leagues fromthe City of Tehuantepec. In the morning it is white,at noon it is red, and at night it is blue. At noon ithas a beautiful perfume, but at no other time. It growson a tree.

There are very few fires in Mexico, and it is a blessingto the citizens; they have one fire company, but noalarms. When there is a fire the policemen nearest givethe customary alarm, three shots in the air from his revolver; the next policeman does the same, and on up until they come to the policeman near the firemen's office.The fires are always out or the place reduced to ashes before these noble laddies put in an appearance.

On every corner is hung a sign, giving a list of all thebusiness places on that block.

The turkeys in Mexico are the most obliging things Iever saw; they are brought into town in droves and theynever scatter, but walk quietly along, obeying the voice oftheir driver. If he wants a drink he makes them liedown and they stay until he returns.

Mail is delivered every day in the week, Sunday notexcepted. Every letter-box contains a slip which thecarrier fixes, which tells when the next collection will bemade. Printed slips are published daily, and hung inthe corridors of the post-office, of unclaimed letters andpapers, and of those that have not gone out for lack ofpostage.

Houses are never labeled "To Let" when they areempty; a piece of white paper is tied to the iron balconyand everybody knows what it means. No taxes are paidon empty houses or uncultivated land. People neverrent houses by the year, but by the day or week; theycan move at any time they wish; this makes landlordscivil.

Grass is cut in the park with a small piece of zinc,which is sharpened on a stone, and it is raked with atwig broom.

No houses have bathrooms, but the city is well supplied with public swimming baths. One can have a roomand private bath for twenty-five cents. Everybody ofany note takes a bath every morning. It is quite a prettyand yet strange sight to see the beautiful young girlscoming leisurely up the prominent thoroughfares earlyin the morning, with their exquisite hair hanging intangled masses, often to their feet. They are always attended by a maid.

Mexican ladies have a contempt for people who do nothave servants. They never carry anything on the streets;but always have a mozo, even to carry an umbrella.

Because Vera Cruz has such a large death rate fromyellow fever the Mexicans have named it La Cindad delos Muertos (the city of the dead.)

In Yucatan the Maya language is still used. It is verymusical and is written all in capitals.

It is considered polite and quite a compliment for aman to stare at a lady on the streets. I might add thatthe men, by this rule, are remarkably polite.

Families employ street musicians by the month, to visitthem for a certain time daily. The hand-organs thereare most musical instruments.

Shoes are never marked with a number, but are fitteduntil they please the buyer. The shoes worn on thestreet are what would be the pride of an actress. Theyare very cheap.

The easiest English word for the Mexican to learn is"all right." Even the Indians catch it quickly. Theyall like to speak English.

Butter is seldom seen in Mexico. The only way theyhave of getting it is by its forming from the rocking onthe burro's back while being brought to town. It isskimmed off the milk by the hand and is sold at a big price.It is never salted. The butter is always wrapped in cornhusks, looking exactly like an ear of corn until it isopened. They also make cottage-cheese, and tying it upin green reeds sell it. Salt is very expensive.

It costs a single man about one hundred and fifty dollars a month for his room rent and board. He must alsoretain the chamber-maid and the patero (door-keeper,)with certain amounts. Young men never carry nightkeys in Mexico, because they weigh about a pound.

According to law every door must be locked at teno'clock, and all those entering afterward must pay thepatero for unlocking and unbarring the heavy portals.

The poor, when dead, are carried to the graveyard onthe heads of cargadores. If the coffin is only tied shutwith a rope, it is borrowed for the occasion. The bodyis taken out at the cemetery and consigned, coffinless, tomother earth.

The Mexicans began to call the Americans gringosduring the war. They say the way the title originatedwas this: at that time an old ballad, "Green grows theRushes, O!" was very popular, and all the Americansoldiers were singing it. The Mexicans could only catch"green grows" and so they have ever since called theAmericans "gringos."

Newspapers are published every day in the week except Monday. Sunday is always a feast day, and as noone will work then, the paper cannot be gotten out forMonday.

Mexicans never suffer from catarrh; they say it is because they will not wash the face while suffering froma cold. They say a green leaf pasted on the temple curesheadaches.

The women in Mexico are gaining more freedom gradually; they have them now as telegraph and telephoneoperators. Some Mexican bachelors use the telephonefor an alarm clock, that is, they have the girls wake themby means of the telephone placed in their room.

No bills are legal unless they are stamped. Every manhas a peculiar mark which he scratches beneath his name.It is a sort of a trade mark, and makes his name legal.

The Indian women have some means of coloring cottonso that it will never fade.

There are public letter writers on the plazas, where onecan have the correspondence attended to for a smallsum.

Letter-writing is an expensive thing in Mexico; to allpoints not exceeding sixteen leagues, they pay ten centsfor a quarter of an ounce, or fifty cents an ounce. Postalcards are two cents; to send a letter to the United Statesonly costs five cents. Every state in Mexico has its ownstamps.

Some haciendas are enormously large in Mexico. Oneman owns a farm through which the railroad runs forthirty miles. It is said to comprise ten thousand squaremiles.

The public schools in Mexico are similar to those inthe States fifty years ago; the schools are never mixed;the boys attend one place and the girls another; the advanced teachers are elected, and are given a house to holdthe school in, and one hundred dollars a month for conducting it. For the others they get a house somewhere,and from thirty to sixty dollars; ten years ago girls werenot taught spelling or writing in public schools; they arenow taught all the common branches and English, whichhas replaced French; sketching, music, fancy-work, andplain sowing; the hours are from 8 to 12.30, and from 2to 6; they are thoroughly taught the geography of theirown country, but they absolutely learn nothing of otherlands.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A FEW RECIPES FOR MEXICAN DISHES.

PROBABLY some one would like to make a few of thedishes most common to the Mexican table. Of courseyou will think them horrible at first, but once you acquire the taste, American food is insipid in comparison.

Recipe for tortillas: – Soften corn in alkaline water,then grind it fine, pat into round cakes, and bake on athin, iron pan. Eat while hot. They are made verygood by wrapping them around meat, or a seasoned pepper.

Albondigas (meat balls): – Take equal parts of freshpork and beef, say one pound, cut, as for sausage, put insalt, pepper, a small piece of soaked bread, and one egg,well beaten; make into small balls, putting in each apiece of hard-boiled egg, an almond and a raisin. In adish of hot lard put five or six crushed tomatoes, a littlechopped onion, salt, pepper, and broth. Let boil a fewmoments, and then put in the balls. When the meat iscooked it is ready for the table.

Rice with chicken or fresh pork: – Wash and dry therice; have a dish of hot lard, put in the rice, fry a fewmoments, then add chopped tomatoes, onions, salt, pepper, two or three thinly sliced potatoes, and a few pease;cook a few moments, then pour into it the chicken or porkand some of the broth in which they have been boiled.

Stuffed red peppers: – Open the pepper, take out theseeds and wash and dry carefully. Boil and then chop fineas much fresh pork as you will need to stuff your peppers.In a dish of hot lard put the meat with plenty of fine-cuttomatoes and onions, salt and pepper. Boil a few moments, then add a little sugar, cloves, cinnamon, almonds, and raisins cut in half, cook a little, then fill thepeppers. If you have eight peppers beat three eggs,whites and yolks separately; when well beaten put together, and in this roll the peppers, having first sprinkledover them a little flour. Have a dish of hot lard, towhich has been added a little ground tomato, cinnamon, salt, pepper, and a little water. Boil a few moments, then put in the peppers, having first fried themin hot lard. Boil a few moments, and they are ready foruse. The peppers can be filled with cheese if preferred,instead of meat.

Green peppers with eggs and cheese: – Roast the peppers over the coals, take off the thin skin, take out theseeds, wash and cut into thin strips. In a dish of hotlard put some tomatoes and onions, cut fine, and abouttwo cups of water. When boiling, break in as manyeggs as desired. When cooked, put in the peppers andslices of cheese. Rightly prepared, it is delicious.

Cocoanut dulce: – Grate fine two cocoanuts. Put in adish three pounds of sugar, let boil, take off the scum,then add the cocoanut, stirring all the time. After alittle a bowl of cream, then later eighteen eggs, wellbeaten. Let cook, stirring constantly, until, when youpass the spoon through the middle of the mixture, youcan see the bottom of the dish; then take off. Put inplatters. Peel and cut almonds in half; put them in asthickly as you please. Pass over it a hot iron until nicelysmoothed.

Pineapple and sweet-potato dulce: – Grate pineapple,and boil sweet potatoes, half and half. For one pineapple two pounds of sugar; let boil and skim. Put inand boil, stirring all the time, until you can see the bottom of the pan as the spoon passes through the center.

Rice and almonds: – One ounce of grated almonds, oneounce of rice washed and ground; put in enough milk soit will pass through a cloth; put tins in a quart of milk,with three yokes of eggs and sugar to taste; boil untilwell done; flavor to taste.

CHAPTER XXXVI

SOME MEXICAN LEGENDS.

THERE is hardly a spot in Mexico that has not someromantic history connected with it; and the tales are always so beautiful and full of thrilling romance. I wouldlike to live in Mexico some time, and devote all my attention to gathering these interesting stories. I havegiven samples of them in the history of Don JuanManuel.

The Street of the Jewel is also connected with a storyfull of love and its companion, despair. Here dwelledGasper Villareal and his wife, Violante Armejo. Gasperwas a man of moderate means, but he had enough topreserve his wife from labor. She was of wondrousbeauty but quite strange, she only cared to hide herselfin her convent-like home. She loved her husband, andhe was as jealous as a Mexican can be.

One day a young noble. Diego de Fajardo, rode by thedoor, and, being thirsty, he asked the mozo for a drink.Violante sat in the corridor, looking upon the garden,and dreaming, doubtless, of her absent lord. True tothe instincts of her race, she ordered the mozo to takethe stranger a glass of wine. The servant did her bidding, explaining to the young cavalier the reason of thechange in his refreshments. Diego de Fajardo felt thatit would be churlish to ride away without acknowledgingthe gracious hospitality. He tossed his bridle to the manand passed into the garden.

Violante still sat in her hammock, garbed in spotlesswhite, the perfection of beauty, grace and innocence.The young caballero had not uttered his thanks untilhe had vowed to win Gasper Villareal's lovely wife.

Day after day he watched the casa, waiting for an opportunity to find the wife alone. At last fate favoredhim. It was near nightfall when he saw the husbandcome forth, and, taking saddle, ride toward the city. Ina moment, eager and confident, he fell on his knees before Violante and confessed his love.

She did not full into his arms, but she spurned him andwith such anger that he saw his conduct in its true light,and, repentant he arose from his knees and left her.Violante started to her chamber to seek her rosary and tocool her throbbing brow with the touch of holy water,when her foot struck a sparkling object; it was a bracelet,With her name, "Violante," in diamonds, close besidethe coronet and arms of De Fajardo.

As she stood her husband entered. Having to returnfor something, he had been struck with horror to see aman rush from his gateway. There stood his wife withthe jewel in her hand, the evidence of her guilt. Without a word he sunk his dagger in her breast. As shesank lifeless to the floor, he snatched the gleaming bracelet from her stiffening fingers and left the house.

Diego de Fajardo was wakened in the morning by hismozo. Something had happened and he was wanted togo out in the street to see if he could understand it.Tremblingly he obeyed. On the pavement, Gasper Villareal lay rigid, his garments soaked with his life's blood.Near the bronze knocker of the massive door was asplendid diamond bracelet, suspended on a blood-staineddagger.

In 1550 the lake of Texcoco overflowed, and almostsubmerged the City of Mexico. Among the objectsfound drifting upon the water was a large canvas, onwhich appeared a beautiful representation of the Virgin.None could determine where it came from, so a chapelwas built for it. It is called "Our Lady of the Angels."For centuries it has received the veneration of man.

Another inundation occurred in 1607, and all thechapel, except the side holding the Virgin's picture, waswashed away. Despite all the storms the picture wassaid to be as bright as if just from the painter's brush.A new chapel was built around this marvelous painting,which stood until 1627, when another flood took it allaway excepting the one wall holding the Virgin's likeness. There, neglected and unprotected, it stood as thestorms had left it until 1745, when a succession of public calamities drove the people to implore the succor ofthe Virgin. A building was again erected around theuninjured painting. Thus, until the present day, thepeople in need seek the painting to pour forth theirprayers at its feet.

El Desierto and its old Carmelite convent occupy themost charming spot in Mexico. It is only fifteen milesfrom the capital, and the way is along the most romanticand picturesque road a Southern clime can produce. Theforest that surrounds El Desierto is composed of thelargest trees in the valley, hardly excepting those ofChapultepec. The convent was a group of massive buildings, domes and turrets, now crumbling into decay. In1625 the monks retreated to this wilderness to mortifythe flesh, and strange stories of their serio-jovial life,their sparkling wines and romance of their hermit-likeexistence come creeping down through centuries; thejolly monks are no more, and the winds sigh through themighty forest that has ridden romance, love and tragedyfrom the world.

The conqueror, Cortez, not satisfied with robbing thegrand old Aztec king, Montezuma, of his land and life,also robbed him of his daughter. The poor woman, after he deserted her, died in a convent, leaving a daughter, the child of Cortez. This daughter of Cortez, andgranddaughter of Montezuma, was married very youngto a Spanish captain, Quinteros. There are now inPuebla descendants of that illegal love.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

PRINCESS JOSEFA DE YTURBIDE.

I CANNOT close this little book without speaking ofone of the most remarkable and brilliant women inMexico, the only daughter of the emperor. After theexecution of the emperor the family came to the States,and settled in Philadelphia. Josefa was sent to Georgetown to receive an English education, and she yet retainsa love for America and its people. When Maximilianentered Mexico he restored the titles to the Yturbide family, and invited the cultured princess to become a member of his imperial household. Subsequently EmperorMaximilian adopted Augustin Yturbide, grandson of thelate emperor, and appointed the Princess Josefa guardianof the "prince imperial." Maximilian soon recognizedthe wonderful executive abilities of the princess, and heconsulted her on momentous occasions. Had he takenher advice, I doubt not but that Mexico would have hadan empire to-day.

After the fall of Maximilian, Mrs. Yturbide (formerlyAlice Green, of Washington, D. C.) claimed and recovered her son, who had been temporarily "heir presumptive" to the throne of Mexico. The Princess Josefawent to the court of Austria. Nine years ago she returned to Mexico, where she lives in seclusion.

She is one of the loveliest women, in every respect, Iever met. Her rooms at the Hotel Humboldt are plain,but contain many little mementos of former glory.The pictures and busts of the unfortunate emperor andempress occupy prominent positions.

"Carlotta was only twenty-three years old when shecame to Mexico," said the princess. "She was a beautiful girl, with a creamy complexion, dark eyes and hair.She worshiped her young husband, as he did her, andshe was ambitious for his sake. What a sad fate wastheirs!"

The princess then showed me five letters she had received from Carlotta, written in English, after the emperor's death; they gave no evidence of her insanity.The princess has never received any recompense forthe land which the government took from her father, andeven a pension due her, which now amounts to some hundred thousands, has never been paid. She receives manypromises from Diaz but never the money.

The worst things the Mexicans ever did for themselveswas to shoot Maximilian. They have never had onequarter so good government since. They had sworn goodfaith to the emperor and said if he sent part of theFrench army back they would support him. He believedthem, and when he found that they were dishonest heapplied to Napoleon for aid. When he received no answer, the empress, eager to save her noble husband,started to beg Napoleon personally for help, much againstthe wish of Maximilian.

The republican powers getting too strong for the emperor, some advised him to seek refuge until things grewcalmer. The refuge he sought was the prison they hadprepared for him. He walked into it, and he nevercame forth until the day he was shot. His bosom friend,Lopez, whom the emperor had enriched, had made ageneral, and intrusted him with all his secrets, betrayedhim to his enemies. On June, 19, 1867, Maximilian andhis brave comrades, Miramon and Mejia, were led forthto a little hilt near Queretaro and shot. Maximilian'slast words were: "Poor Carlotta.'" Three little blackcrosses now mark the spot where those noble men died.

[THE END.]

NOTES

[Page 15]

¹ Pronounced Che-wa-wa.

The table of contents has been created for the convenience of the online reader. It did not appear in the original edition of the book. Size and placement of the illustrations may vary slightly from the original. The footnote has been numbered and placed at the end of the book.