Mexico is a city of vistas. One looks down the long perspective of a thoroughfare north, south, east, or west, and at the end he sees the purple mountains, some far away, some quite near to view, some apparently three miles off, some sixty; but the air is so transparent that even the most distant objects seem to be very near at hand. Beneath the plain which immediately surrounds the city is a dry marsh which was a broad lake in Cortez's day,—indeed, it is a lake still, four or five feet below the surface of the ground, containing the accumulated drainage of centuries. The site of the national capital was formerly an island, only a trifle above the level of Lake Texcoco; hence there are no cellars possible beneath the dwelling-houses of the populace. Herein lies the secret of the want of drainage, and of the unpleasant and unwholesome odors which are constantly saluting the senses and challenging the remarks of strangers. Were it not for the absence of atmospheric moisture in this high altitude, where perishable articles of food dry up and do not spoil by mould or putrefaction, the capital would be swept by pestilence annually, being underlaid by a soil reeking with pollution. As it is, typhoid fever prevails, and the average duration of life in the city is recorded at a fraction over twenty-six years! Lung and malarial diseases hold a very prominent place among the given causes of mortality. Owing to the proximity of the mountains, the rains sometimes assume the character of floods. A resident friend of the author's told him that he had seen the surrounding streets and the Plaza Mayor covered with two feet of water, extending a quarter of a mile up San Francisco Street after a sharp summer shower, which did not continue much more than an hour. Of course this gradually subsides; but the inconvenience of such an episode in a busy city, not to speak of its unwholesomeness, is a serious matter. The wonder is that Cortez, after destroying the Aztec capital, should have rebuilt it on so undesirable a site, while there was plenty of higher and more inviting ground close at hand. To this blunder is owing the unhealthfulness of a city which might have been rendered one of the most salubrious dwelling-places on the continent, if placed on any of the neighboring elevated lands, with their possibilities for pure air, their location above fogs, and their being so entirely out of the range of devastating storms. Peter the Great had good and sufficient reason for building his capital at such enormous expense upon marshy ground beside the Neva, but one can see no good reason for Cortez's choice of a site for this capital. History gives us an account of seven disastrous floods which have occurred in this city since 1521, all of which were accompanied with serious loss of life, as well as great destruction of property. If a broad channel could be opened so as to reach the Tula River, some forty miles away, adequate drainage might be obtained for the capital. This is too stupendous an undertaking, however, for Mexican capital or enterprise. Perhaps a foreign company will some day accomplish it; but whether such a scheme would be a safe one, quien sabe? It is possible that in attempting to procure perfect drainage, even a worse condition of affairs might be brought about. The city, it will be understood, rests upon a body of water supported by an intervening stratum of earth and accumulated debris. If this buried lake were to be drained, that is, absolutely removed, would not a collapse of some sort necessarily take place? What would support the present frail foundations of the city buildings, which seem to be now sustained by hydraulic pressure? Even as it is, no heavy structure can be found in the limits of the capital which is not more or less out of plumb, in emulation of the leaning tower of Pisa. The thick walls of the Iturbide Hotel are so full of cracks and crevices, caused by the settling here and there of its insecure foundation, as to cause anxiety and constant remark among its guests. There is another consideration worthy of mention. It is said by persons whose intelligence makes their opinion worthy of consideration, that during the severe earthquake which took place here in 1882, the nearness of the water to the surface of the earth prevented the city from the destruction which was imminent. This certainly may have been a correct deduction.

As the city is in the lowest part of the valley, and all the lakes except that of Texcoco are above its level, there is no positive safety from inundation at any hour. The lake just named is said to be only about two feet below the level of the city plaza. As the valley is entirely closed by a wall of mountains, there is no natural outlet for these extensive waters. Lake Zumpango, with a surface ten miles square, is twenty-nine feet higher than the average level of the city of Mexico. Such drainage as is contemplated must tap and carry away these lakes also, to obviate the danger of their flooding the capital on any extraordinary emergency, else it will be of little avail.

At this writing there is quite a "boom" in land in the neighboring suburbs of San Angel and Tacubaya, which present most desirable building localities, and are free from the prominent objections of the capital itself. The latter suburb already contains nearly ten thousand inhabitants. It is situated on a hillside, sloping towards the northwest. In its present form the town is quite modern, but from the earliest times there has been a village here. After the great inundation of 1629, the project of making this the site of the capital was seriously considered. There is already a small alameda and a miniature plaza in Tacubaya. San Angel is a couple of miles further away from the city, and is also built on a hillside, amid orchards and gardens. The deserted and ancient Carmelite monastery is a feature of this place. Both Tacubaya and San Angel can be reached almost any hour of the day from Mexico by tramway, the cars starting from the Plaza Mayor. It was noticed that considerable building for domestic purposes was going on in both of these places, but principally at Tacubaya, and it is thought the citizens of Mexico are "hedging," as it were, by providing themselves with pleasant and healthful homes in anticipation of some sort of collapse which must sooner or later befall the business portions of the capital. There is universal complaint regarding the high price of rents in the city for respectable residences, quite a percentage having been added to the rates heretofore charged each succeeding year. Drainage is more and more seriously thought of by cutting an outlet of some sort, as we have suggested, and what result may follow remains to be seen. That there is a steady growth of population and business here is perfectly obvious, stimulated by closer business connections with the United States, which are being constantly added to. People who look in advance see that ten years hence the two suburban towns will practically be part and parcel of the city proper. The new buildings now erecting in Tacubaya are observed to be of stone, and built to last. Wooden structures are almost unknown. Iron is used for many purposes, taking the place of wooden beams, as in this country. We were assured by intelligent persons that all skilled mechanics were busy, such as masons, iron-workers, plasterers, and carpenters. It is surprising to the writer that more has not been said relative to the extraordinary growth and prosperity of the national capital of Mexico. The most prominent agent in bringing all this about is undoubtedly the Mexican Central Railroad.

One easily becomes acquainted with the topography of the city, each point of the compass leading directly to the mountains, while the town itself forms a perfect level. The chief business street leads from the railroad depot to the Plaza Mayor. The most fashionable shopping street is that known as the Street of the Silversmiths. It is of good width, and nearly a mile long. Calle de San Francisco is another of the main business thoroughfares. As a rule, the many sacred titles given to the streets come from the names of churches or convents which stood or still stand in them. Thus the Street of the Holy Ghost contains the church so designated. Several of the most important avenues, beside the Plaza Mayor and the alameda, are lighted by electricity, other portions of the city proper by gas, and the outlying districts by oil-fed lanterns. One peculiar object, always observable in the city at night, is the bright lantern of the policeman of the immediate beat, placed in the middle of the junction of the streets, with the man himself standing beside it, ready to answer any legitimate call for his services. The police system of the capital is certainly excellent, and in the two weeks which we passed there no such affair as a street brawl of any sort was seen, though we visited all parts of the town, and at all hours of the day and night. There are few of our own cities where the public peace is so thoroughly preserved, or with so little demonstration, as is the case in the capital of Mexico.

Our hotel, the Iturbide,—pronounced Eater-beady,—situated on the Calle de San Francisco, and called after the emperor of the same name (Don Agustin de Iturbide), is probably the best, as it is the largest in the city; but this is faint praise. Hotel-keeping is one of the arts which, at its best, has not yet been introduced into this country. Iturbide's aspiration led him to assume the imperial crown, in consequence of which he fell. After reigning for a twelvemonth, he was banished from Mexico on parole never to return. This parole he broke, landing from Europe at Vera Cruz in 1824. He was seized, thrown into prison, and was shot by orders of the government, as a traitor, July 19 of the same year. The old flint muskets used for the purpose hang beside the modern arms, in the national armory, with which was performed a like sentence upon Maximilian. Thus the two men who essayed the role of emperor of Mexico ended their career. The Iturbide is spacious and well situated, being within a few rods of the Plaza Mayor, and having once served as the palace of the emperor whose name it bears. It is entered, like the Palace Hotel of San Francisco, and the Grand Hotel of Paris, by an archway leading into a spacious area or court, on whose four sides rises the elaborate structure. Upon this patio the several stories open, each with a line of balcony. This broad area, open to the sky, is paved with marble, and has spacious stairways of the same material. The windows are of the French, pattern and open down to the floor, so that the occupant of each room steps out upon the balcony by passing through them. The windows are the same on the public street side. The house is fairly well furnished so far as comfort is concerned, and the beds—well, they might possibly be worse,—domestic comfort is not the strong point in the Iturbide, where cleanliness is also one of the lost arts. All the chambermaids here, as in Japan, are men, and very good servants they are, according to their light and the material which is furnished to them. The fact that three fourths of them bear the name of Jesus is, it must be admitted, a little confusing when it is desired to summon any particular one. In the selection of a sleeping apartment the visitor should be sure, if it is possible, to obtain one facing east or south, thus securing an abundance of sunshine. Rooms situated otherwise, in this climate particularly, are liable to be damp and even dangerous to health, especially in a city which rests upon the surface, as it were, of a hidden lake. Such facts may seem to be trifles to the casual reader, but experience will soon teach him their real importance.

The broad, three-story front of the Iturbide Hotel is quite imposing, and exhibits some very elaborate native carving in stone. We were told that it was once occupied by a very rich and eccentric mine owner for the accommodation of himself and family, embracing half a dozen wives and over sixty children! quite after the style of a Turkish harem or the establishment of a Utah magnate. A capacious and well-appointed hotel on the American plan is something which this city greatly needs. It would be welcomed and well-patronized by the native citizens, and all foreign travelers would gladly seek its accommodations. It seems that a large Mexican hotel designed to cost some two million dollars is already under consideration by an incorporated company of wealthy natives; but this will not, we believe, fill the requirements of the present time. The Mexicans do not know how to keep a hotel, and any money expended in the proposed plan, we suspect, will be next to thrown away. Government has lent its aid to the purpose of establishing a new hotel on a grand scale, by passing an act exempting from import duties all furniture and goods intended for use in the house, to the amount of fifteen per cent, on the entire capital invested in the enterprise of building and properly equipping the establishment. This exemption from custom-house taxes will prove a saving of considerably over two hundred thousand dollars to the hotel company. Now, if this purpose is consummated and the owners will put the whole in charge of an experienced American, something satisfactory may come from it. The best hotels in the world are kept by Americans,—this not in the spirit of boasting,—and next to them in this line of business come the Swiss, who have copied us very closely. The English follow, but rank only third in the line of progress, while the Mexicans are simply nowhere. The Iturbide has no ladies' or gentlemen's parlor, that is to say, it has no public reception-room worthy of the name. The conventionalities here do not absolutely demand such an arrangement, though it would be appreciated; nor can one obtain any artificial heat in his apartment, however much it may be required. There are no fireplaces or chimneys in the house, while the other domestic accommodations are of the most primitive character. As to food, the Iturbide is kept on the European plan, and one can order according to his fancy. The service, however, is anything but neat or clean. The meal-hours are divided as in France and continental Europe generally: coffee and bread upon first rising, breakfast at noon, and dinner at six o'clock in the evening. The proprietor has lately put into service a very good steam elevator, which was at first deemed to be a serious innovation. We heard of some rather ludicrous experiences which occurred during the first few days of its use; but the people were very soon reconciled to the comfort it afforded, and put aside their prejudices. Even this elevator is so restricted in its running hours as not to afford the guests the accommodation it should supply. As some one has wittily said of the ballet-girl's costume, it begins too late and leaves off too early.

The ice used in the city of Mexico comes from the top of the neighboring range of mountains, but it is rarely seen except in bar-rooms, the retail price being ten cents a pound. In order to obtain a cool temperature for their drinking water, the people keep it in porous earthen jars made by the native Indians. Rapid evaporation from the outside of the vessels renders the water highly refreshing, indeed, cool enough, the dry atmosphere is so very active an absorbent. The ice is brought to the nearest railway station wrapped in straw, on the backs of the peons, and is thus transported daily, no large quantity being kept on hand.

Opening from the main patio of the Iturbide Hotel upon the level of the street is a large billiard-saloon and bar-room combined. As our bedroom was on the first chamber floor, and opened upon this patio, with a little balcony and a long French window, we had the benefit nightly, as well as daily, of all the ceaseless noises which usually emanate from such a place. Billiard balls kept up their peculiar music until the wee small hours of the morning, and all day on the Sabbath. The Mexicans, like the Cubans, do not drink deep, but they drink often; and though it is seldom that a respectably dressed person is seen intoxicated, either on the streets or elsewhere, still the active bartenders of the Iturbide drinking-saloon did not quit their posts until nearly broad daylight in the morning. So our sleep in that palace hotel was achieved to the accompaniment of clinking billiard-balls, the clatter of drinking-glasses, the shaking up of iced mixtures, and the sharp voices of disputants at the card-tables. However, a thoroughly tired person can sleep under almost any circumstances; and after many hours each day devoted to sight-seeing, the writer did not spend much time in moralizing over the doings in the spacious apartment beneath him.

Regarding places of public entertainment, the city contains several theatres and a permanent circus, but only one of the theatres seemed to be patronized by the best people; namely, the Teatro Nacional, built so late as 1844, and having seating capacity for three thousand persons. The commencement exercises of the military school of Chapultepec are given annually in this house. Here, at least one good opera company is engaged for a brief season annually; indeed, there is some kind of opera, French, Spanish, or Italian, nearly all the year round. Smoking of cigarettes between the acts is freely indulged in by the audience; and though the ladies do not smoke in public, at least not generally, they are known to be free users of the weed at home. Three other theatres, the Coliseo Viejo, the Arbeu, and the Hidalgo, are respectably good; there are three or four others, minor establishments, all open on Sundays, but they are to be avoided.

There is a spacious bull-ring at the northern end of the paseo, on the left of the roadway as we drive towards Chapultepec, where exhibitions are given to crowded assemblies every Sunday and on festal days. Of all the public sports the bull-fight is the most cruel, being without one redeeming feature to excuse its indulgence, while its evil moral effect upon the people at large is clearly manifest. There is certainly a close affinity between the Spanish language and the Latin, as well as a strong resemblance between the old Roman masses and the modern Spanish people. In the olden days the Roman populace cried, Panem et circenses (bread and circuses); so to-day the Spanish people shout, Pan y toros (bread and bulls). The bull-fight is a national institution here, as it is in continental Spain and in Cuba, and is strongly indicative of the character of the people. While we were in the country a bull-fight performance was given on a Sunday in one of the large cities, as a "benefit" towards paying for a new altar-rail to be placed in one of the Romish churches. Only among a semi-barbarous people and in a Roman Catholic country would such horrible cruelty be tolerated, and especially as a Sabbath performance. This is the day when these shameful exhibitions always take place, at Madrid as well as in Mexico, it being also the most popular and fashionable evening of the week for theatrical entertainments.

Some of our party attended one of these exhibitions in the city of Mexico; but they very promptly and emphatically declared that nothing could induce them again to witness anything of the sort, pronouncing it to be only a repulsive butchery. The author had seen both in Spain and in Cuba quite as much as he desired of this wretched national game, and therefore he did not visit it on the occasion referred to above. A distinguished citizen of the national capital, General H——, told us that the better class of ladies did not now attend the bull-fights in Mexico, though there are plenty of women who do so regularly. "I have four grown-up daughters, one of whom is married," said he, "but neither they nor their mother ever witnessed this debasing exhibition. Be assured," he continued, "that the cultured class of our community do not sympathize with these relics of barbarism." This is a sentiment which we are gratified to record, more especially as at Madrid, the headquarters of the cruel game, it has not only the full sanction of the public officials and of the Élite of the Spanish capital, but the patronage of royalty itself. The central box of the bull-ring in that city is reserved for the court, and there are no empty seats during the performance. A law was passed a few years since forbidding bull-fights to take place in the Federal District of Mexico; but this law has been repealed in accordance with the clamorous demand of a large majority of the people; besides which the law was virtually inoperative, as these exhibitions were held all the same, only they were removed to a few rods beyond the boundary of the prohibited territory. The thought comes over us that, after all, the bull-fight is but one degree worse than the shameful prize-fights of professional bruisers in England and America.

One of the most admirable and practical charities established in the Mexican capital is known as the Monte de Piedad, which is simply a national pawn-shop. The title signifies, "The Mountain of Mercy." It was originally founded more than a century since by Count Regla, the owner of the famous silver mine of Real del Monte, who gave the sum of three hundred thousand dollars for the purpose, in order that the poor and needy of the population of this city might obtain advances of money on personal property at a low and reasonable rate of interest. Any article deposited for this purpose is valued by two disinterested persons, and about three fourths of its intrinsic worth is promptly advanced. If the owner ceases to pay the interest on the loan, the article in pawn is kept six months longer, when it is exposed for sale at a marked price. After six months more have expired, if the article is not disposed of, it is sold at public auction, and all that is realized above the sum which was advanced, together with the interest, is placed to the original owner's credit. This sum, if not called for within a given time, reverts to the bank. The capital of the institution has more than doubled since its organization, but the amount of good which it has been the means of accomplishing cannot be estimated. Its first effect was to break up all the private pawn-brokers' establishments which charged usurious interest for money, its own rates being placed at a low figure, intended barely to meet necessary expenses. These exceedingly low rates have always been scrupulously maintained. The average annual loans on pledges amount to a million dollars, distributed among about fifty thousand applicants. The establishment is also a sort of safe deposit. All the goods in its vaults have not been pawned. As the place is a sort of fortress in its way, many valuables are here stored for safe-keeping. One dollar is the smallest sum that is loaned, and ten thousand dollars is the largest. The loans will average from two to three hundred daily. It appears that one third of the merchandise deposited is never redeemed. Among other articles of this class is the diamond snuff-box which was presented to Santa Anna when he was Dictator, and which cost twenty-five thousand dollars. Tourists often call in at the Monte de Piedad, looking for bargains in bricabrac, and sometimes real prizes are secured at very reasonable cost. A gentleman showed the writer an old, illuminated book, of a religious character, entirely illustrated by the hand of some patriot recluse, which was marked five dollars, and upon which probably four dollars had been loaned to the party who deposited it. The time for its redemption had long since expired, and our friend gladly paid the sum asked for it. He said he should take it to the Astor Library, New York, where he felt confident of receiving his own price for it, namely, one hundred dollars: "Then," said he, "I will give the money to some worthy charity in my native city." The volume had undoubtedly been stolen, and pawned by the thief. Possession is considered to be bona fide evidence of ownership, and unless circumstances are very suspicious, money is nearly always advanced to the applicant on his or her deposit.

Speaking of old books, there are three or four second-hand bookstalls and stores under the arcades running along one side of the plaza, where rare and ancient tomes are sold. Volumes, of the value of which the venders seem to have no idea, are gladly parted with for trifling sums. Civil wars and the changes of government have never interfered with the operations of the Monte de Piedad. All parties have respected it and its belongings, with one exception—during the presidency of Gonzales in 1884, when its capital was somewhat impaired and its usefulness circumscribed by a levy of the government in its desperation to sustain the national credit in connection with its foreign loans. A curious collection of personal property is of course to be seen here, including domestic furniture, diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones, swords, pistols, guns, saddles, canes, watches, clothing, and so on. The large building used for the purpose of carrying on the business stands upon the site once occupied by the private palace which formed the home of Cortez for so many years, a short distance west of the great cathedral. This institution has lately been sold to an English syndicate for the sum of one million dollars. The new owners have a cash capital of twenty-five millions, and will resume the banking department, which was suspended in 1884, and carry on the pawnbroking business as heretofore.

The alameda, a name usually applied to large Spanish parks, is a parallelogram of about thirty or forty acres in extent, situated between the two streets of San Francisco and San Cosme, abounding in eucalyptus trees, poplars, evergreens, orange and lemon trees, together with blooming flowers and refreshing fountains. In olden times this alameda—this forest-garden in the heart of the city—was inclosed by a wall pierced with several gates, which were only opened to certain classes and on certain occasions; but these grounds, greatly enlarged and beautified, are now open on all sides to the public, easily accessible from the surrounding thoroughfares. We were told that the name comes from the fact that the park was originally planted with Álamos, or poplars. One cannot forget, while standing upon the spot and recalling the early days of the Spanish rule, that it was on a portion of these grounds that the hateful Inquisition burned its victims, because they would not subscribe to the Roman Catholic faith. According to their own records, forty-eight unbelievers were here burned at the stake at one time. We do not think that the Aztec idolaters ever exceeded in wickedness or cruelty this fiendish act.

The alameda has a number of open circles with fountains in the centre, about which stone benches are placed as seats. These spaces are much frequented by children as playgrounds. An interesting aviary ornaments one of the roomy areas, filled with a variety of native and exotic birds, which attract crowds of curious observers. The inexhaustible spring at Chapultepec supplies these fountains, besides many others in various parts of the city, from whence water-carriers distribute the article for domestic use. The alameda is the largest public garden in the capital, of which there are twelve in all, and is the daily resort of the corpulent priest for exercise; of the ambitious student for thought and study; of the nursery maid with her youthful charge; and of wooing lovers and coquettish seÑoritas, accompanied by their staid chaperones. On Sunday forenoons a military band gives an out-of-door concert in the central music stand, on which occasion all grades of the populace come hither, rich and poor alike, the half-fed peon in his nakedness and the well-clad citizen. All classes have a passion for music. The cathedral empties itself, as it were, into the alameda just after morning mass. This, be it remembered, is the forenoon. The closing hours of the day are devoted to driving and promenading in the adjoining Paseo de la Reforma. On the evenings of festal days, the central pavilion, where the band is placed, as well as other parts of the alameda, are illuminated with Chinese lanterns and electric lights disposed among the trees and about the fountains, so that the artificial lamps rival the light of day. On these gala occasions two or three additional bands of musicians are placed at different points to assist in the entertainment. The fountains play streams of liquid silver; the military bands discourse stirring music; the people, full of merriment, indulge in dulces, fruits, ice-cream, and confectionery, crowding every available space in the fairy-like grounds, and Mexico is happy.

There is no noisy demonstration on these occasions. The multitude, we must frankly acknowledge, are better behaved than any such assemblage usually is in Boston or New York. All seem to be quiet, contented, and enjoying themselves placidly. It should be mentioned, in this connection, that all pulque shops in the capital are promptly closed at six o'clock P. M. throughout the year. This is imperative and without exception; consequently, no evening disturbance is to be anticipated from that source. It was found that there are over two thousand pulquerias in the capital. The effect of this special stimulant, however, is not to make those who indulge freely in it pugnacious or noisy. It acts more like a powerful narcotic, and puts those who are overcome with it to sleep, having, in fact, many of the properties of opium. The gilded bar-rooms where the upper classes seek refreshment, who, by the way, seem rarely to abuse the privilege, are permitted to remain open until midnight, but into them the common people have not the wherewithal to procure entrance. A tumbler of pulque which costs them a penny they indulge in, but drinks at fifteen or twenty cents each, and in small portions at that, are quite beyond their means. A somewhat peculiar effect of pulque drinking was also mentioned to us. The people who partake of it freely have an aversion to other stimulants, and prefer it to any and all others without regard to cost. The beer-drinking German is often similarly affected as regards his special tipple. Chemical test shows pulque to contain just about the same percentage of alcohol as common beer; say, five or six per cent.

Besides witnessing the foul deeds of the Inquisition when the priesthood publicly burned and otherwise tortured unbelievers, the alameda has frequently been the scene of fierce struggles, gorgeous church spectacles, and many revolutionary parades. Here scores of treasonable acts have been concocted, and daring robberies committed in the troublous times not long past. To-day it is peaceable enough; so quiet in the summer afternoons, here in the very heart of the busy city, that the drone of the busy humming-birds among the flowers comes soothingly upon the ear of the wakeful dreamer. Quiet now, but awaiting the next upheaval, for such, we are sorry to say, is pretty sure to come, sooner or later; the Roman Catholic Church party is not dead, but sleepeth. A strong, costly, and united effort on its part, stimulated from Rome, to once more gain control of the government of Mexico, has been successfully defeated without an open outbreak since the second term of President Diaz commenced. The success of the church party would simply throw Mexico back half a century in her march of improvement towards a higher state of civilization. It would check all educational progress, all commercial advance, and smother both political and religious freedom.

The number of infant children, strapped or tied to their mothers' backs, that one sees in the streets of the capital, and indeed all through the country, is something marvelous. The fecundity of the peons is beyond all calculation. Eight women out of ten, belonging to the humbler classes, are sure to be thus encumbered. Marriages take place here at as early an age as in Cuba or South America, namely, at twelve years. Few young girls among the common people remain unmarried after fourteen years of age, or rather there are few of them that do not bear children as early as that. Marriage among the poor is a ceremony not always considered necessary, and, indeed, as a rule, they are too poor to pay the priest the price he charges for performing the ceremony. Speaking of marriage, this relationship among people of position and property is assumed under somewhat peculiar circumstances in Mexico. First, a civil marriage takes place, which makes all children born to the contracting parties legitimate. After this civil rite is duly complied with, perhaps a day and perhaps ten intervening, the usual church ceremony is performed, and then the bride and bridegroom join each other to enjoy their honeymoon, but until the latter ceremony is consummated, the couple are as much separated as at any time of their lives. Why this delay in consummation takes place is by no means clear to an outsider.

One not infrequently sees a mother carrying two infants at a time wrapped in her rebosa, and tied across her chest; only ten months of age separating the little creatures. Besides these infants the mother carries her burden of vegetables, fruit, baskets, or pottery, to dispose of in the market near the plaza. Like Japanese and Chinese babies, these little ones seldom, if ever, cry, but submit patiently and with apparent indifference to what seems to be a very trying position, as well as to almost total neglect. These children were never in a bed since they were born. They probably sleep at night upon a straw mat spread upon the earthen floor, and we much doubt if they are ever washed. Sometimes the father is seen carrying the baby, but this is very rare; the women take the laboring oar almost always here, as among our Indian tribes, the people of the East, and the South Sea Islanders. This is a characteristic applicable not alone to the national capital, but observable again and again all over the republic. Though so very poor, and doubtless often suffering from hunger, the half naked people are not infrequently seen with a cigarette between the lips. Drunkenness is seldom seen, notwithstanding that pulque is cheap and potent, and it is very rarely the case, as already intimated, that any quarreling is witnessed among the people. They are quiet and orderly, as a rule, yet most of them are homeless and hopeless.

Though begging is chronic with the Spanish race everywhere, and notoriously prevalent in continental Spain, persistent in Havana and Matanzas, and nearly universal throughout the Mexican republic, still, in the national capital it is far less obtrusive than elsewhere, because the police are instructed to suppress it. So, also, begging is prohibited by law in Paris, London, and Boston, but how constantly the law is disregarded we all know. Sad is the condition of things which, as Thackeray expresses it, gives the purple and fine linen to one set of men, and to the other rags for garments and dogs for comforters.

It is not uncommon to see a family group, mother, father, and one or two children, huddled close together in a street corner, where they have passed the night, sleeping in a half upright position, while leaning against an adobe wall. In an early morning walk towards the Paseo de la Viga, we saw just such a scene, with the addition of a mongrel dog, which had so bestowed himself as to give the shelter of his body as well as its natural warmth to a couple of small children. One thing the reader may be assured of, to wit: the whole family, including the dog, had a hearty and nourishing breakfast that morning at least.