City of Mexico.—Private Dwellings.—Thieves.—Old Mexico.—Climate. —Tramways.—The Plaza Mayor.—City Streets.—The Grand Paseo.— Public Statues.—Scenes upon the Paseo.—The Paseo de la Viga.— Out-of-door Concerts.—A Mexican Caballero.—Lottery Ticket Venders. —High Noon.—Mexican Soldiers.—Musicians.—Criminals as Soldiers. —The Grand Cathedral.—The Ancient Aztec Temple.—Magnificent View from the Towers of the Cathedral.—Cost of the Edifice.—Valley of Anahuac.

As Paris is said to be France, so is the national capital of this country equally representative, it being indisputable that the main business and the social interests of the country all centre here. The city derives its name from the Aztec war-god Mexitli, and is a large and handsome metropolis, containing considerably over three hundred thousand inhabitants, who embrace a large diversity of nationalities. In 1519, when Cortez first saw it, the city is represented to have been nine miles in circumference, and to have contained half a million of inhabitants,—a statement which, we doubt not, is greatly exaggerated, as were nearly all of his representations and those of his followers. This capital originally bore the name of Tenochtitlan, and was completely destroyed by the invaders, who established a new city upon the same site. Cortez officially announced, three or four years afterwards, that the population was thirty thousand. “For a century,” says Charles Lempriere, an able writer on Mexico, “the city continued to increase in numbers, wealth, and power, so that when Captain John Smith and his followers were looking for gold mines in Virginia and the Pilgrims were planting corn in Massachusetts, an empire had been founded and built up on the same continent by the Spaniards, and the most stupendous system of plunder the world ever saw was then and there in vigorous operation.”

The streets of the city as we see them to-day are generally broad and straight, lined with two-story houses, and there are also several elegant boulevards and spacious avenues. The better class of houses are built of stone, covered with stucco, the windows opening upon cosy little balconies handsomely ornamented and shaded by linen awnings, often in high colors. The interior construction of the dwellings follows the usual Spanish style, as seen on the continent of Europe, in the island of Cuba, and elsewhere, often displaying touches of exquisite Moorish effect, whose highest expression one sees in the Alhambra at Granada. Here and there there are seen horseshoe arches supported at the abutments by light and graceful columns, inclosing marble-paved courts. The open areas about which the houses are built often present most pleasing effects by a display of fountains, flowers, and statuary tastefully arranged. On the main thoroughfare leading from the Plaza Mayor to the alameda are several grand private residences, having the most beautiful courts, or patios, as they are called, that the imagination can conceive, lovely with tropical trees and flowers in vivid colors, and rendered musical by the singing of caged birds. Upon these areas, which are open to the sky, the inner doors and windows of the dwellings open, the second story being furnished with a walk and balustrade running round the patio. Heavy, nail-studded doors shut off this domestic area from the street at night. It is not safe to leave anything outside the house after dark that a man can lift. It is sure to be stolen, if so exposed. The lower classes all over the country are inveterate thieves. The bolts that fastened the ties to the rails of the National Railway were stolen nightly by the people, until they were finally riveted on. But then there are thieves everywhere; we chain our out-door mats to iron fastenings in Boston, Chicago, and New York, and dealers in “improved burglar alarms” do a thriving business in all our Northern cities.

The houses in this capital are very substantially built, the walls being composed of stuccoed bricks of great thickness. Fires are of rare occurrence, and, indeed, it would be nearly impossible to burn up one of these dwellings. If a fire does occur, it is almost always confined not only to the building in which it originates, but even to the room where it first makes its appearance. The roofs are nearly all flat and without chimneys; there is no provision made for producing artificial heat in the dwelling-houses. This is quite endurable even to foreigners in a climate where the temperature seldom falls below 60 deg. Fahr., and averages the year round nearly ten degrees higher. It is always warm in the middle of the day, and cool only early in the mornings and at night. The climate may be said to be temperate and the atmosphere is extremely dry. Travelers are liable to suffer considerably from thirst, and the lips are prone to chap, owing to this extreme and peculiar dryness. The warmest months of the year are April and May. It was somewhat of a surprise to the author to learn that the death-rate of the city of Mexico averages nearly double that of Boston. As to elevation, it is over seven thousand feet higher than the city of Washington, D. C., or more than a thousand feet higher than the summit of Mount Washington, N. H.

Regarding the fine residences on San Francisco Street, there is a peculiarity observable as to their location. This is almost wholly a business street, and therefore to select it for an elegant home seems incongruous. The choicest residence we can remember on this thoroughfare stands between a large railroad-ticket office and a showy cigar store. This house has a most striking façade finished in Moorish style with enameled tiles, and is on the opposite side of the street from the Iturbide Hotel.

Numerous large squares, beside the grand plaza and the spacious alameda, ornament the capital. Several of the main thoroughfares enter and depart from the Plaza Mayor, as in the city of Madrid, where the Puerto del Sol—“Gate of the Sun”—forms a centre from which radiate so many of the principal streets. Some are broad, some are narrow, but all are paved, cleanly, and straight. The street-car system is excellent. If any fault is to be found with the management, it is with the rapid manner in which the mules attached to the cars are driven through the highways amid a crowded population; and yet, we were told, accidents rarely if ever happen. They are generally run double, having a first and second class car, both of which are seemingly well filled at all hours of the day. Funerals are conducted by turning one of the street cars, made for the purpose, into a catafalque, or hearse, another being reserved for the pall-bearers and mourners. Sometimes one sees a long string of these cars occupied for this purpose gliding into the suburbs where the grave-yards are located. The use of cow-horns by the driver to warn the people who obstruct the way appeared to be a little primitive, to say the least of it, in a city so large as this capital. It seems very effective, however. The fact that all of the tramway cars start from and return to the Plaza Mayor in front of the cathedral makes it easy for a stranger to find his way to any desired point of the city or its environs, and safely to return to the starting point when he desires to do so. The Plaza Mayor in every Mexican city is not only the central park, but also the central idea. There could no more be a full-fledged Spanish city without a plaza than a cathedral without a bishop.

Statistics show that there are nearly, or quite, five hundred miles of streets in the Mexican capital. These, intersecting each other at right angles, are so strangely alike as to be not a little puzzling to the uninitiated. It is also somewhat awkward at first to find one continuous avenue bearing many names, each block being individualized by a fresh appellation. This subdivision of the large avenues, we were told, is gradually to be discarded. The admirable boulevard called the Paseo de la Reforma, leads out of the city to the castle of Chapultepec, and is over two miles in length, with a uniform width of two hundred feet, forming the fashionable afternoon drive and promenade of the town. It has double avenues of shade trees to the right and left, with stone sidewalks and convenient seats for those who desire them. On either side of this grand boulevard are seen an occasional chateau with handsome gardens. At certain intervals the avenue widens into a glorieta, or circle, four hundred feet in diameter. The first of these contains Cordier’s Columbus, one of the most admirable and artistic modern statues which we remember to have seen, though there appeared to be some confusion in the extraordinary amount of detail which is crowded upon the base. Other appropriate monuments ornament the several circles, including an equestrian statue of Charles IV. of colossal size; thirty tons of metal was used in the casting, and, if not the largest, it is the second largest that has ever been cast. Still another represents Guatemozin, the last of the Indian emperors. It is a little singular that Montezuma II. is not remembered in this connection, he whose life was so intimately interwoven with the history of the Aztec race in the time of Cortez. Humboldt is said to have declared that the statue of Charles IV. had but one superior, namely, that of Marcus Aurelius. There are six of these glorietas, which beautify the long line of perspective ending in the elevated palace-castle of Chapultepec, with its snow-white, picturesque walls clearly defined against the blue sky. When Maximilian planned and completed this charming driveway, he named it the Boulevarde Emperiale; but on the establishment of the republic the more appropriate title which it now bears was adopted. Some people persist in calling it the Empress’s Drive, in honor of Carlotta.

One never wearies of sitting upon the well-arranged benches of the paseo in the afternoon, and watching the motley throng of people driving, riding on horseback, or promenading: the ladies with piercing black eyes and glossy dark hair shrouded by lace mantillas; the dashing equestrians exhibiting all the gay paraphernalia of a Mexican horseman; stately vehicles drawn by two snow-white mules; tally-ho coaches conveying merry parties of American or English people; youthful aristocrats bestriding Lilliputian horses, followed by liveried servants; while here and there a mounted policeman in fancy uniform moves slowly by. In the line of pedestrians are well-dressed gentlemen in black broadcloth suits, wearing silk hats and sporting button-hole bouquets, mingled with whom are a more common class of the people in picturesque national costumes. The women of the middle class add gayety of color by their red and blue rebosas, sometimes partly covering the head, at others thrown carelessly over the shoulders, or tied across the chest securing an infant to the back. The general effect of the constantly moving throng is kaleidoscopic, while the mingled groupings are delightfully entertaining. Nothing more peculiar and striking in its line is to be seen this side of the Maidan, Calcutta. Here, as in that Asiatic Champs Elysees, now and again one sees a light American trotting wagon or a heavy-wheeled English dog cart, with a dude at the reins and a liveried flunky behind holding a flaring bouquet!

The carriages go out towards Chapultepec on one side and return on the other, during the popular hours for driving, leaving the central portion of the roadway exclusively for equestrians. Every man who can afford it owns a saddle horse in this city, and the men are universally good riders. The horses are broken to a certain easy gait called the passo, a sort of half run, very easy for the rider, scarcely moving him in the seat. These horses average about fifteen hands in height, and are taught to stop, or turn back, at the least touch of the bit. They are both fast and enduring, with plenty of spirit, and yet are perfectly tractable. The enormous spurs worn by the riders, with rowels an inch long, are more for show than for use. Mexican or Spanish ladies are hardly ever seen on horseback, though both English and American ladies are often met in the saddle, dashing gallantly through the throng upon the paseo at the fashionable hour. Something of oriental exclusiveness and privacy is observed by Mexican ladies of the upper class, who drive on the paseo even in close carriages, not in open barouches, like those of European cities. In shopping excursions they do not enter the stores; but the goods are brought to the door of the vehicle, in which they retain their seat while examining the articles which are offered. It is a Sunday scene which we are describing; but it is all the gayer for that reason. The pulque shops drive a lucrative business; the billiard saloons are all open. Children ride hither and thither in little fancy carriages drawn by goats; donkeys covered with glittering ornaments are ridden by small boys, and led by their owners; clouds of highly-colored toy balloons float in the air, tied to the wrists of itinerant venders; gambling stands do much abound; while candy-sellers, with long white aprons and snow-white paper caps, offer candy and preserved fruits on all sides. The class of women whom we meet as pedestrians are quite Parisian in the free use of rouge for lips and cheeks, not forgetting indigo-blue with which to shade about their dreamy-looking eyes. Ladies belonging to the aristocratic class are rarely, if ever, seen walking in the streets. They only drive in the paseo. For a couple of hours in the closing part of the day, the paseo is a bright, giddy, alluring scene. A military band performs on Sundays, adding life and spirit to the surroundings. The wholesome influence of these out-of-door concerts upon the masses of the people is doubtless fully realized by the government. A love of music is natural to all classes here. Groups of half-clothed men and women, bareheaded and barefooted, always take places modestly in some corner and quietly listen during the performance of the bands, never speaking while the music lasts. To such these out-door concerts are a real boon. To the higher classes they are simply an addition to a long list of other pleasures. Another boulevard, known as the Paseo de la Viga, runs along the banks of the canal of the same name, and leads out to the Lake Xachimilco; but, since the new paseo was completed this has ceased to be the favorite resort for driving. It is situated in the southern suburb of the city, and seems to be rather deserted, though as we view it there passes a typical horseman, a description of whom shall be literal.

The horse is of Arabian descent. His sire must have been imported from continental Spain, and being crossed upon native stock has produced a medium-sized, high-spirited, handsome animal, with a broad chest expanded by the air of this altitude, the nostrils being widespread, the ears small, and the eyes full of intelligence. The horse’s saddle, bridle, and trappings are gorgeous with silver ornaments, without the least regard to usefulness, twenty-four inches square of leather fancifully worked and shaped being attached to each stirrup. His rider appears in a short leather jacket, bedizened with silver buttons, tight pantaloons of the same material, also heavy with silver buttons, being partially opened at the side and flaring at the bottom. He does not wear a waistcoat, but has a mountain of frills on the linen bosom of his shirt, set off by a red scarf tied about the waist. The spurs upon his heels are of silver, weighing at least half a pound each, while the rowels are an inch long. On his head is a sombrero of yellow or brown felt, the brim of which is twelve to fifteen inches broad, and the crown measuring the same in height. The sombrero is covered with gilt cord formed into a sort of rope where it makes the band. The wearer’s monogram, in gold or silver letters from two to four inches long, on the side of the crown, completes the whole. Every article is of the finest material, and therein, principally, he differs from a Western cowboy or a dandified Buffalo Bill.

During the period of Lent, owing to some caprice of fashion, the Paseo de la Viga becomes the popular afternoon resort for vehicles and equestrians.

While we are making these notes, sitting upon the curbstone of a fountain of the paseo, we are personally reminded that the lottery ticket vender is ubiquitous. Sometimes it is a man who importunes you to purchase, sometimes a young girl, and at others even a child of eleven or twelve years belonging to either sex. The pretty girl of course finds the most customers, offering to “kiss the ticket for good luck,” and on the sly, perhaps the purchaser also. This must be a Spanish idea, as it is practiced both in Madrid and Cuba. The Mexican government realizes fully a million dollars per annum from the licenses granted to protect this gross swindle upon the public. It is a regular thing for prominent business houses to make their monthly purchases of these lottery tickets; rich and poor, prince and beggar, alike invest, differing only in the amount; while most strangers, smothering their conscientious scruples, purchase a ticket, thus adding their mite to the general folly. We were told in Havana that one satisfaction in buying tickets in the national lottery there was, that like the Louisiana Lottery it was honestly conducted. Our incredulity upon the subject was laughed to scorn, but since then the Havana Lottery has been detected in a series of the most barefaced swindlings that can be imagined. As to that of Louisiana, we never for a moment have believed in there being anything “honest” about it. A concern which can afford to offer the State government of Louisiana over a million dollars per annum for the privilege of running a gambling institution there, must carry on a more reckless swindling game upon the public at large than its worst enemies have suspected.

Just at high noon, on our return from the Paseo de la Viga, the Plaza Mayor was reached on the great square fronting the cathedral, where a simultaneous movement was observed among the people who filled the large area. As the cathedral and church bells throughout the city chimed the hour of twelve, every Mexican in sight uncovered his head and bowed devoutly. It was difficult to analyze this spirit of reverence, for which no one could assign any satisfactory reason except that it was the custom.

The swarthy soldiers of the republic are often seen paraded opposite the plaza, and though they are sure to recall the French Zouaves, yet they lack their admirable discipline and perfection of company movements. Indeed, to speak plainly, the author has never seen a more slatternly, knock-kneed, uncouth body of soldiers than the rank and file of the Mexican army. The white gaiters of the French Zouaves moving all together have a fine effect when a body of them are marching through a Parisian boulevard; but the Mexican soldiers have neither stockings nor gaiters, besides which they do not pretend to keep step at all when marching. They move at will, while the bottoms of their feet only are covered with the crudest sort of sandals, laced about the ankles with leather thongs. Every soldier in the Mexican service is his own shoemaker. An intelligent officer, in reply to a question regarding the sandal for army use, said: “They are far more comfortable for a soldier on the march than any shoe that can be made. They are cool, cheap, and do not irritate the feet. They can be renewed anywhere in this country, and a sandal that will fit one man will do for any other in the regiment. In a warm climate nothing is so suitable for the feet of a soldier.” It is well known that so painful will close shoes often become to the foot soldier, that he will take them off and throw them away in despair when making a forced march, preferring to walk barefooted rather than endure the suffering caused by swollen feet and tight shoes, which cannot occur when the sandal is used. The feet have always perfect freedom in them, and the sole and toes are protected. Neither men nor women of the common class wear stockings, and in fact nine out of ten of the population of the country go barefooted all the year round.

It puzzles a stranger to see a good military band—and they are excellent musicians here—play upon their instruments in perfect harmony, and at the same time march out of step or cadence with the music. It would seem almost impossible for one possessing a true musical ear to perform such a trick. With any European or American band, both feet and instruments would get out of accord constantly, or fall into it naturally. Like the king’s guard in Hawaii, the troops here parade in white linen or cotton uniforms, stout and unbleached, with a plenty of silvered buttons, the cap being white and of the same material as the rest of the simple costume. At times they appear in a plain uniform of dark blue, but this is on special occasions only, as it is considered to be full dress. The officers are nearly all graduates of the military school at Chapultepec, where the best of foreign teachers are employed in the various departments, so that in future it is confidently expected that the army will be found in a more efficient condition than ever before. The common soldiers, we were told, are composed of rather questionable material. A large percentage of them are criminals released from prison on condition of their enlisting and serving for a certain length of time in the ranks of the regular army. On the caps of those serving out a term of imprisonment in this manner are certain marks indicating the same, as well as showing the length of the prescribed service. Punishment is ever prompt in this country, and despotic methods prevail. Any one attempting to evade his term of service, or breaking army regulations, is very apt to have his business settled by a bullet at once, without even the form of a trial. The department of the cavalry seemed to a casual observer to be much more efficient than that of the infantry. The fact is, the average Mexican is an admirable horseman, and appears better in that capacity than in any other. The national or standing army numbers about forty-five thousand of all arms, besides which each state has a regular militia force, but of a poorly organized character, in most instances, as we were informed, being neither uniformed, nor drilled at regular periods. President Diaz is opposed to the employment of criminals, such as we have described, thinking with good reason that it has a tendency to bring disrepute upon the service. This would seem to be such an unquestionable fact as to admit of no argument.

As, in the case of the first Spanish invasion, Cortez with his handful of followers could not have conquered and possessed Mexico but for the dissensions existing among the several native tribes, so, as regards the French invasion and attempt to seat Maximilian on the throne of a new American empire, these invaders could not have met with even the partial success which they achieved had the Mexican people presented an unbroken front in opposition. The American invasion was also more or less favorably affected by partisan divisions among the Mexicans. The present organization of the army is upon a basis so national, and is governed by a spirit so faithful to the whole union of the states, that in case of another war Mexico could put a large and effective army into the field. In other words, she is better prepared to-day than ever before to successfully maintain her national integrity by force of arms.

The famous cathedral of Mexico, with its tall twin towers and graceful dome, is built of unhewn stone, and fronts upon the Plaza Mayor, forming the main architectural feature of the city. Ninety years did not suffice to complete it, and several millions of dollars were expended in the original construction. Among the sixty churches of the capital it is preeminent for its vast proportions and elaborate architectural finish. The edifice stands upon the spot, or very near it, which, was once occupied by the great Aztec temple dedicated to the war god of the nation, which the Spaniards promptly destroyed after subjugating the natives and taking full possession of the place. The first church on this site after the destruction of the idolatrous temple was founded by Charles V. His successor ordered it to be pulled down, and the present edifice erected in its place. We are told that the great Aztec temple was surrounded by walls having four gates fronting the four cardinal points, and that within the enclosure were five hundred dwellings accommodating the priests and priestesses, and others who were devoted to religious dances and devotional ceremonies connected with the worship and service of the idols. Five thousand priests chanted night and day before the altars. Consecrated fountains and gardens of holy flowers were there, mingling barbaric fanaticism with natural beauty. In describing these matters the old priests and monks gave free scope to their imaginations.

The ancient temple was pyramidal, the summit being about one hundred and fifty feet above the ground, and accessible by numerous broad stone steps. On the platform at the top, according to Spanish authorities, human sacrifices took place not only daily but hourly; wars were made with neighboring tribes to supply victims for the altar, and when there was a revolt among the native tribes, it was subdued by the strong arm, while the offending district was compelled to supply a certain number of their people to die on the sacrificial stone. It is represented that the number of lives thus disposed of was reckoned by tens of thousands. David A. Wells, in his able and comprehensive work entitled, “A Study of Mexico,” says of these Spanish chroniclers that their representations are the merest romance, no more worthy of credence than the stories of “Sindbad the Sailor,” though from this source alone Prescott drew the data for his popular “Conquest of Mexico.” One of these chroniclers, who gives his name as Bernal Diaz, not only repeats these stories of the multitudinous sacrifice of human beings at the rate of thousands monthly, but charges the Cholulans with “fattening men and women to use for food, keeping them in pens as animals are fatted!” Wilson pronounces this to be intolerable nonsense, and though Diaz pretends to have been one of Cortez’s soldiers, always with him throughout his remarkable invasion, Wilson proves clearly that he was never in the country at all. His obvious and constant blunders as to geography and other matters would alone convict him of being a pretender and not a true witness. Besides which, he contradicts both himself and Cortez’s account in many important particulars. We believe, with Wilson, that this name of Bernal Diaz is a pure fabrication, gotten up as a priestly scheme to further their own purposes, and cover up the insufferable wickedness of the Roman Church in Mexico, as well as to screen the bloodthirsty career of its agent Cortez. Las Casas declared all these Spanish histories of the conquest to be wicked and false. He wrote a history himself, from personal observation, but as it would have exposed the falsehoods and schemes of the priestly chroniclers, it was promptly suppressed by the all-powerful Inquisition.

In destroying and leveling the great sacrificial mound which formed the pyramid supporting the Aztec temple, together with the debris of the dismantled dwellings and temples generally belonging to the native race, the Spanish conquerers must have found ample material wherewith to fill up the many canals and small lakes which made of this ancient Aztec capital another Venice. Every vestige of aboriginal architecture has disappeared from the surface of the city. Three hundred and sixty odd years have served to turn the probably frail dwellings of the people completely to dust. So, also, have the earliest structures of the Spaniards disappeared. There are few of their churches which have not been rebuilt. The causeways which connected the ancient city with the mainland are still considerably higher than the general level of the plain, and are thus distinctly marked, besides being bordered with venerable umbrageous trees, tall and graceful, producing a fine effect, particularly when seen from a distance, forming divisional lines in the broad and varied landscape.

The façade of the present grand cathedral, at each side of which rises a massive tower crowned by a bell-shaped dome, is divided by buttresses into three parts, and though there is some confusion of orders, Doric and Ionic prevailing, still as a whole the front is majestic and imposing. The towers are each over two hundred feet in height, and are also of mingled orders. In the western tower is the great bell, nineteen feet high, named Santa Maria de Guadalupe. We know of nothing of the sort exceeding it in size and weight except the great Russian bell to be seen in the square of the Kremlin at Moscow. The basso-relievos, statues, friezes, and capitals of the façade of the great edifice are of white marble, which time has rendered harmonious with the gray stone. Though millions of dollars have been lavishly expended upon the interior,—the cost of the bare walls was over two millions,—it will strike an artistic eye as incongruous. Like the grand and costly interiors of the churches at Toledo, Burgos, and Cordova, in Spain, the general effect is seriously marred by placing the choir in the middle of the nave. It is like breaking midway some otherwise grand perspective. The cathedral is over four hundred feet in length and two hundred in width. Quadruple pillars, each thirty-five feet in circumference, support its roof, which is a hundred and seventy-five feet from the floor. The high altar—there are six altars in all—was once the richest in the world, and though the church has been many times plundered, it still retains much of its magnificence. The solid gold candlesticks, heavier than a single pair of arms could lift, the statue of the Assumption, which was also composed of solid gold, inlaid with diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones, valued at a million dollars, besides many other equally extravagant and nearly as costly objects, have from time to time disappeared. But with all of its losses, this cathedral is doubtless decorated in a more costly manner than any other in America. The railing of the choir is a remarkable affair, manufactured in China at great cost, and weighs nearly thirty tons. It is said to be composed of silver, gold, and copper, containing so much gold that an offer has been made to take it down and replace it with one of solid silver in exchange. The original cost of this railing is stated to have been one million and a half dollars! (Spanish authority.) There are a dozen or more side chapels, inclosed in bronze gates, in one of which the Mexican Emperor Iturbide is buried, though he was condemned and executed as a traitor. Two invaluable oil paintings hang upon the walls, a genuine Murillo and an original Michael Angelo. A dim light pervades the interior of the cathedral, tempered by the flare of tall candles, but it lacks the beautiful effect of stained glass windows. The imagination, however, is very active, and easily summons from the dim past ghostly shadows, while an overpowering sense of height and silence prevails.

Here Maximilian and Carlotta were crowned, in 1864, emperor and empress, with great ceremony, little dreaming how briefly their imperial honors would remain to them.

In contemplating this grand architectural development, as well as the hundreds of other similar structures, erected at such enormous expenditures of money and labor, one cannot but be exercised by mingled emotions. We are apt to recall how much of absolute misery was entailed upon the down-trodden natives, who were compelled to work for barely sufficient food to sustain life. The control of the priesthood was absolute; they levied taxes upon everything and everybody. They were amenable to no civil laws, and recognized none but those of the church. The extent to which they carried their extortion is almost beyond belief, and the amount of wealth which they accumulated is nearly incredible. At the time of the reform, the clergy absolutely owned three fourths of the entire property of the country.

The view from the towers of the cathedral,—in which there are between forty and fifty costly bells, each dedicated to some saint or martyr,—is so remarkable that not even the most casual visitor to the capital should miss it. It presents such a picture as promptly photographs itself on the brain, never to be obliterated. It was from this locality, on the summit of the Aztec temple which stood here four hundred years ago, that Montezuma pointed out to Cortez the beauties of his capital and its fairy-like environs, so soon to be destroyed by the hands of the ruthless invader. At our feet lies the tree-dotted plaza, with its central pleasure-garden and its fine architectural surroundings, including the long, white façade of the national palace, while the entire city is spread out before us with its myriad domes, spires, thoroughfares, and causeways. There are typical scenes and groups everywhere formed by the eddies of busy life. Long lines of heavy-laden burros thread the streets, the natives assume the size of huge insects crawling about in bright colors, the blooming trees are like button-hole bouquets, and dashing horsemen move about like animated marionettes. Not far away looms against the blue sky the tall castle of Chapultepec, while the clustered towers of Guadalupe, the Mecca of all pious Mexicans, comes still nearer to the vision. The many outlying villages upon the plateau, each with its central spire, recall the lovely plains of Granada. The distant fields of maguey, the verdant patches of alfalfa, luxuriant meadows, groups of grazing cattle, and the two arched stone aqueducts are all prominent features presenting themselves to the eye, together with the gardens and villas of Tacubaya and San Angel. As we gaze at the unequaled panorama, which Humboldt pronounced to be the most beautiful the eye ever rested upon, the thought forced itself upon us that with all its scenic beauty, this valley and plain of Anahuac has for centuries been cursed with crime and barbarism. The whole scene is inclosed by a grand circle of mountains, just far enough away to clothe them in charming purple. The rarefied atmosphere adds distinctness and brilliancy of coloring to everything. Two of these sky-reaching elevations are of world-wide reputation, namely, Mount Popocatepetl ("the smoking mountain"), and Mount Ixtaccihuatl ("the white woman"). The former presents so perfect a conical form, while the summit is rounded into a dome of dazzling whiteness, that it seems to far exceed the height of eighteen thousand feet which is accorded to it; and though it does not rise abruptly from sea level to its giddy height, like Mount Tacoma in the State of Washington, still in shape it much resembles that noble elevation.

Cortez in 1520 and Scott in 1847 led their conquering hosts over the elevated pass which nature had formed between these mountains. The two summits are connected by a well-wooded ridge, itself some three thousand feet in height, looking from a distance like a deep valley between the grand mountains. While regarding the interesting scene, it was natural to compare the loftiest elevation before us with that of the Valley of Chamounix. Mont Blanc is a little less than sixteen thousand feet at its summit above the sea. Popocatepetl is a little less than eighteen thousand, but the latter rises from the plateau of Mexico, which is over seven thousand feet above the sea, while Mont Blanc at the base, is only thirty-five hundred feet above the ocean. Thus about two thousand feet more of elevation is visible to the eye in the Swiss mountain than the Mexican monarch shows above the plain.

In the rear of the cathedral, and adjoining it, is an interesting chapel known as the Capilla de las Animas, “Chapel of the Souls.” It is really a part of the cathedral, though arranged quite separate from it, facing upon the Calle de las Escalerillas. We find no record of its origin, though it is said to have been built in 1748 to replace a similar edifice which was destroyed by fire. The branch of business to which this chapel is devoted, as we were told upon the spot, was to pray to the good God to release souls from purgatory! One Concha, a priest who carried on this lucrative farce until he was eighty-seven years old, died so long ago as 1755, having, as the church record shows, “celebrated” over forty-five thousand masses in his time; the amount of cash received for the same is not set down. As the priests do nothing on credit, officiating at marriages or funerals, selling indulgences or performing masses for cash only, this good man must have realized for his services, in the aggregate, at the very lowest reasonable estimate, about one million dollars. Undoubtedly high rates were sometimes paid to get a very “hard case” out of purgatory. Sinners who dreaded a future state of punishment, as a just reward for their evil deeds on earth, were accustomed to leave Father Concha a good round sum of money, to pray them out of the uncomfortable quarters to which they expected to be consigned after departing from this life. Like a certain shrewd Irishman, they “accepted” purgatory, fearing they might go further and fare worse.