There are two things that the settler will find gaining a hold on him after a short residence in Mexico, namely, cigarette smoking and indolence. Very few foreigners successfully resist the seduction of the siesta. However fierce their original abhorrence of the practice may be, gradually the climate saps and softens it, and induces them to regard it leniently. It is hopeless to attempt to combat the native predisposition to midday slumber. The custom of generations has become an instinct. For the time being all idea of business is as completely relinquished as during the hours of midnight. There is nothing for the best intentioned and most energetic individual to do but wait until in due course the Mexican world wakes again. And this period of enforced idleness it is which proves so fatal to the good intentions of the stranger in the land.

The laws that govern the attraction of cigarette smoking are more mysterious; but their influence is also more swift and certain. I believe that no one escapes this injurious habit. As for me, I did not endeavour to do so, but avoided a good deal of trouble and self-mortification by falling into it at once; and although a rooted indisposition to sleep in the day-time under any circumstances preserved me from indulging in the siesta during any of my trips into Mexico, I must confess that about that period of the day which may be designated the fore-afternoon, a sense of most enjoyable laziness would steal upon me, when not in the saddle.

No doubt there are lazier creatures than the typical Mexican; for all intents and purposes, however, he is lazy enough. He unites with his indolence a constitutional indifference which is very enviable. I have seen the combination described somewhere as "the tropical philosophy of the Mexican." He can be idle without reproaching himself, poverty-stricken without repining. His soul is unvexed by envy or those yearnings of vulgar ambition, not unfrequently mistaken for the still, small voice of conscience, urging us to labour. Life with him is one long siesta. In the fulness of our restless hearts let us not condemn his equanimity too hastily. To struggle and strive are not essentially admirable unless the ulterior ends of those who are so occupied are disinterested and noble. And, as a rule, unselfish and noble views, grand schemes, are usually propounded, not by the hard-working citizen, but by the more or less unreliable dreamer, of more or less dubious integrity. The "tropical philosophy" of the Mexican is often evinced in an amusing fashion.

Whilst we were at Corralitos, the blanket-maker of the hacienda came into the office one afternoon on business, and Mr. Neil, the book-keeper, took the opportunity of telling him that, upon their last regulating his accounts, he had been charged by mistake with owing the company three hundred, instead of two hundred and odd dollars. A considerable difference this to one in his position. But the ragged old weaver merely waved his hand, and shrugging his shoulders indifferently, said, with all the air of a prince receiving the intimation: "No hay differencia." There may have been some truth in this literally, however, inasmuch as, like most Mexican ranch hands, he doubtless intended to die, as he had lived, in debt to his employers.

The reply of the Corralitos store-keeper to his customers, when they inquired whether the stock of sugar (which had been exhausted some days before) had been renewed—sugar being the very light of a Mexican's life—was also characteristic. "Azucar? No hay, SeÑores, pero tengo muchos frejoles." Who but a Mexican, when earnestly besought for sugar, could placidly answer that he had none, but had "plenty of beans"? To be able to distinguish any connection between sugar and beans, and offer the latter as a substitute for the former, seems incomprehensible to a practical mind. But philosophers tell us that to be able to generalise is a rare and precious gift, and surely the above incident evinces the possession of it to an unlimited extent.

But for sublime indifference, due, however, not a little in effect to the speaker's manner, a response that I received in Janos is not to be overlooked. I chanced one morning to ask a "tropical philosopher," seated on an erratic boulder in the street, with his zarapa covering his ears, and a cigarette between his fingers, what time it was. He lifted his eyelids and gazed at me curiously. "What manner of fool is this that waits on time?" his looks said palpably, and smiling compassionately, his contempt gaining infinitely from the indolent style in which it was expressed, he murmured: "Quien sabe?"

Nevertheless, very winning traits may be found occasionally in these expatriated descendants of the old Goths. Whence comes the courtly courtesy and dignity displayed by some of the owners of little insignificant shops in Mexican towns? Uneducated and untravelled, these old fellows have lived all their lives in these out-of-the-way corners of the world, yet the demeanour of some of them is as inimitable as is any other inspiration of true genius. It is neither taught nor copied, but inherited, and is the result of long custom acting upon successive generations. "Bon chien chasse de race." These men are polite for the same reason. Skin deep! you object. Very likely. But surely the beautifully combined colours and variety of artistic designs that adorn the surface of Eastern china, are more pleasant to look upon and live with, than the rough surface, scanty, vulgar, and monotonous ornamentation that offends the eye on Western crockery.

I have heard the advice given by one who knew Mexico well: "Cuff and curse the peons, bribe the middle classes, and if you can only outvie the old Dons in politeness you are eternally heeled." One is often reminded by the native character of Harrington's lines:

By another who had had a good deal of experience with Mexicans, a broad rule for my guidance was offered to me once, in the following words: "You don't really want to treat them with delicacy. Pretend to—yes, 'pretend,' to beat h—l!—the more you pretend the better, if you want to get on with them. But don't let it enter into your heart. Never let them get a chance at your sentiment; keep that dry." The speaker was a shrewd judge of men, and was probably not far wrong. The Colonel dealt with them upon a somewhat similar principle, and I was amused upon one occasion by an example of it.

During a drive through the country, three of us had spent the night at the house of an old fellow at Janos, who had entertained us in a style that was simply delightful—I allude, of course, more to the spirit displayed by our host than to what he had absolutely offered us, for in a land where there is no costly food, and where every one carries his own blankets, and requires only a few square feet of floor to sleep upon, visitors are not a great trouble or expense. Nevertheless, we were unwilling to leave without signifying our appreciation of what had been done for us. Money, however, our host unhesitatingly refused to accept, saying that his house was ours, and that whenever we came to Janos we were to make the freest use of it. Don Cabeza bowed and smiled with politeness not less ceremonious than that of our entertainer. "We were amigos," he said; "we understood that; we did not dream of offering to pay for ourselves. We lived in the hope of being able some day to return in Deming the hospitality that we had received in Janos. But the SeÑor Don Manuel must accept five dollars for the accommodation that he had so kindly afforded our two horses." This was another matter altogether. Don Manuel took the five dollars without raising any objections, but reiterating with even greater fervour his professions of friendship and regard.

A somewhat similar incident came under my notice elsewhere. Travelling alone, I was recommended to the house of a small trader, whose courtesy and good-nature were perfectly ideal. He was a man of remarkably fine presence, and his manners were superb—easy, courtly, thoughtful, and charming, yet never for a second anything but deliberate and exquisitely dignified. They reminded me of the manners of a thorough-bred Turk, only this man had a pleasant smile, his laugh was not unfrequent, and altogether he lacked much of the solemnity which governs the usual demeanour of the Osmanli.

I had only to express a fancy, to evince, even unconsciously, a desire, and the means of gratifying it, were they procurable, were not pressed upon me, but unostentatiously placed within my reach and power. And this unwearying attention was paid me in such a way, that it never became in the least degree irritating or oppressive, as is often the case where extreme solicitude is displayed. I spent two afternoons and nights in the house of this gentleman (on my way to and from a ranch that I had gone to look at), but, unfortunately, I was using hired horses which were looked after by my guide, and lodged elsewhere, and being under no obligation to my host for their keep therefore, I was unable to avail myself of Don Cabeza's expedient, when the remuneration that I offered for my own lodging was refused. My host was by no means rich, and I was anxious to reimburse him. It happened that I asked him to change a ten-dollar United States bill into Mexican paper money. I forget the exact value of the Mexican paper dollar at that time, but at any rate it was less than seventy cents American money. My host produced some Mexican notes, and counted me out ten, of the value of one dollar each. Then he paused to see whether this change would satisfy me, and curious to find out what he would do, I folded them up as though contented and thanked him. On his side, he placed my ten-dollar note with the rest of his own bills in his pocket, and bowed gravely, having made at least four dollars, Mexican paper, by the transaction. An odd medley of qualities therefore exists in the Mexican disposition. Traces of the traits that were so marked in their Spanish ancestors still reassert themselves, and side by side with something of the old Castilian pride and manner is found the same avarice that supported the early settlers, under the dangers and hardships which they encountered in order to obtain gold in this country.