# Face to Face with the Mexicans/Chapter 9

CHAPTER IX.
FROM MEXICO TO MORELIA ALONG THE MEXICAN NATIONAL.
SKY such as only a Mexican sky can be, when the sun's rays wove gorgeous oriflammes across the snowy mountain peaks; an atmosphere, translucent to the eyes and an elixir to the lungs, bearing on its health-giving wings the perfume of a thousand flowers; all these were the delightful accompaniments of a holiday jaunt on which we set out in gay spirits one brilliant afternoon in October.
Our party consisted of Madame de C—— (whose guest I was) and her bright little daughter, Lotita, and servant. The objective points of our excursion were Toluca and Morelia, on the Ferrocarril Nacional, and as the railway had then been opened only a short time to the latter place, it was an event of no small magnitude, our visit to these famous old cities. In a charming letter to the Two Republics Madame ​de C—— thus expressed our sensations on taking our departure from Mexico: "After we leave Colonia station, as the cars carry us rapidly past the familiar landmarks, the restfulness of the landscape seems reflected in ourselves. But for the church towers and the roofs and the fortified walls of Chapultepec rising abruptly from the plain, the historic valley of Anahuac with its snowy sentinels, shining lakes, and circle of blue mountains, presents the same air of tranquillity that invited the Toltecs, weary from their long wanderings, to establish their lares and penates here."
The Mexican National Railway, or Palmer-Sullivan, has its westward extension now under construction from the capital toward the Pacific Coast at Manzanillo. The Texas frontier at Laredo is the starting point of the main line, but so far it has only reached Saltillo on its way to the capital.
The western division of the National Railway has revealed the natural beauties of a region which hitherto have been as a sealed book to the ordinary tourist and traveler, the country being not only almost inaccessible, but also bandit-infested. The difficulties of engineering were also of a kind to appall even daring and progressive Americans. As an instance, seventeen bridges were constructed across the Rio Hondo in the space of a few miles, and a very insignificant stream it is in appearance, but its crooks and turns are quite amazing.
The intrepid little engine winds about the valley, now and again apparently thrusting itself against the foot-hills and mountains: then over dark abysmal ravines, spider-webbed bridges, and around horseshoe curves where both ends of the train almost meet; then across gurgling waterfalls; through Indian villages, forests of pine, and along grassy slopes, continuing in its serpentine course to give one every phase of scenery to be desired. The most lovely view is that of the capital and the Lake of Tezcuco smiling and shimmering in the distance.
Our attention is divided between Nature's handiwork as shown in ​the diversified and lovely scenery and the dwellings and mode of life of the inhabitants.
The humble huts of the Indians have an indescribable charm imparted to them by their quaintness of construction. They cannot exceed six feet in height, and with their roofs of straw, maguey leaves, or, as with many, planks laid on loosely, held in place by countless stones, each one weighing one or two pounds, reminded me of a peg-soled
THE INDIAN VILLAGE OF SAN FRANCISCITA.
shoe before it is worn. They begin in the valleys and run in irregular lines up the mountain sides, until one wonders how it is that some mighty landslide or upheaving earthquake does not sweep these frail structures from their lodging places.
These Indians own patches of land, and each one has his portion divided from his neighbors by rows of maguey. They cultivate wheat, corn, oats, and barley; and the different shades of green running in geometrical lines, transversely and obliquely, reminded me of ​that feminine product, the crazy quilt. The observer wonders in which representative of the two civilizations is the geometrical instinct most highly developed—the crude Indian, unaided by a modern thought, or our "ladye faire," with every stimulus from her neighbors' ingenuity and an inexhaustible supply of gay materials from well-filled storehouses near by.
A simple placard on which we read "Crina," informs us that we have reached the highest point on the road, and the highest station in Mexico—at 10,000 feet above sea level, and at a distance of forty miles from the capital. Here respiration becomes difficult, and overcoats and wraps are in demand.
After this, we enter the beautiful Valley of Toluca, which is well covered with haciendas, on which corn and beans are chiefly cultivated. For the first time we see the bright red-tiled roofs that here cover every house, large and small. The haciendas have numerous ranchitas (little houses), in size about five by seven feet, mounted on poles ten feet high. They are entered only by means of a slender ladder. In these strange appurtenances of farm life a watchman takes his station at night, armed with his rifle, and guards a certain number of acres from the molestation of robbers. The road passes near the famous battle-field of Monte de las Cruces, where was fought one of the most sanguinary battles of the War of Independence. A monument now marks the spot. The Valley of Toluca is larger than that of Mexico, and is more generally cultivated, being well supplied with water for irrigating purposes.
Toluca, the capital of the State of Mexico, is about 1,000 feet lower than the high point before described, and 1,000 feet higher than the City of Mexico. The climate is delightfully cool; in fact, for most constitutions, far too cool to be comfortable. The high altitude, together with the coolness, often affects with nervous prostration strangers, especially ladies, requiring days to overcome. The city has a population of about 25,000, is neatly paved, and rejoices in an abundance of clear, fresh water, flowing at all times through the streets. It has many fine old convents, now used as hospitals or ​schools. Foremost among the latter is the "Instituto Literario," one of the most widely known of all the institutions of learning in the republic, and it has the honor of having educated many of the most distinguished men of the country. Each municipality has the privilege of sending one student, who must stand a rigid competitive examination. The institution has five patios and covers an immense space of ground, and is provided with a fine library, museum of natural history, every appliance for the study of physiology, physics, history, and chemistry, besides music and drawing. The students have a gymnasium, warm and cold baths, comfortable dormitories, and for all these advantages the price of board and tuition in the school is only $16 per month. The number of students at the time of our visit was 220. Many of them gathered around us, and conducted us through the gardens and buildings. They entertained us delightfully with recitations and choice music, and extended many other courtesies. A bright-eyed little Indian boy of only eleven years stepped out gracefully before us in the garden and delivered a charming address of welcome to the "two señoritas," in which he stated that both the professors and students of the "Instituto Literario" were honored by our visit, and it was their wish that we should return at some future day. They all accompanied us to the portal of the college, where the usual custom of shaking hands, intermingled with all sorts of good wishes, was gone through, and the last that we heard was a long and continuous "adios," amid the flutter of handkerchiefs and waving of hands from the gallant young students of "El Instituto Literario."
In striking contrast to the Instituto Literario was a public day-school for the poorer children of the town. At seven o'clock in the morning, we saw dozens of small urchins filing into a building opposite our rooms. Not believing it possible that these were school hours, we went over to see for ourselves, and there sat the little folks, some on low chairs, some on benches, while others were down upon the floor, book in hand, and all studying together and aloud, reminding one of the chatter of magpies. ​These tireless little seekers after knowledge were not released from their arduous duties until six in the evening; eleven long hours, excepting the noon-day recess, sitting there, rebozo-wrapped and book-absorbed.
It was an exaggeration of our "old field" system, and these little Mexicans enjoy a great advantage over their white neighbors; punishment of any kind being prohibited by law, and their "tender thoughts" and "young ideas" are spared the painful necessity of
NEVADO DE TOLUCA
being taught to "shoot" by the aid and persuasive eloquence of a hickory switch.
By means of tram-cars, we made a charming trip to the Hacienda de la Huerta (plantation of the Garden), the most productive in the Valley of Toluca. We ascended a hundred feet to the mile for nine miles, and shivered with cold as we went. The hacienda is at the foot of the Nevado de Toluca, a perpetually snow-capped mountain, which aided us in the delusion that we had entered the arctic regions. ​The hacienda has more the appearance of a town or municipality than anything else, having a store, a fonda, a very fine large flouring-mill, and produces great quantities of wheat. All the farm work is done by American machinery, and, in addition, one thousand men are employed the year round, who earn from 18 to 50 cents a day. In reply to our interrogation as to how they could exist on so small a sum as 18 cents, the administrador (manager) said that "until the peon was educated to where he felt the need of something more than tortillas and Chili peppers to eat, it was not likely his ambition would be much stimulated. It is only by the education of the young children that any such thing may be expected."
We were greatly interested in a young deaf-mute, who is employed as gardener on the hacienda. He had graduated at the School of DeafMutes at the capital, and afterwards took a course in horticulture and agriculture at the Agricultural College there. He wrote on the slate in three languages, Spanish, French, and English, and seemed delighted to converse with us in the latter language. The borders and walks were marvels of beauty, but the former were rather startling, as they represented huge snakes, made of various kinds of bottles, and white quartz and lava, broken in tiny bits, with their great mouths wide open, as if to swallow anything that came in sight. Rustic fences of exquisite shape and style have been planned and arranged by this gardener, and at regular intervals on the rustic fence he had placed dainty baskets of ferns, brought from the mountains. He has ten men and two carpenters to carry out any of his designs. He was much pleased with our praises of his skill and taste.
We were the recipients of many social kindnesses from prominent citizens, to whom we bore letters of introduction. Among them Governor Llalan, the Governor of the State, received us with all the grace of a cavalier in the grand salon of the palace. Upon the walls of this elegantly furnished apartment there hung the portraits of all past Governors, while supported on handsome easels in the corners, were those of Hidalgo, Juarez, and George Washington. ​The same rule, I found, existed in every State capitol that I visited, but not in every case was there a portrait of Washington.
A nephew of General Miramon, Señor Enrique Rodriguez y Miramon, the civil engineer of the State, together with his accomplished wife, bestowed upon the strangers most kindly attentions.
On one of our strolls we noticed a time-worn sign over a sadly defaced portal, which read: ''Boletas del sol" ("Tickets to the sun"). We had been constantly mystified by the signs on both stores and streets, but this one eclipsed them all. A closer investigation proved it to be the ancient bull-ring of the town, and this sign indicated that those who had depleted pocket-books might sit on the sunny side for a less price than in the shade, por el sombre (a canvas awning) making the only difference.
Living in Toluca is cheap, and as a summer resort for those who are not affected by the altitude, no place in the Republic offers greater inducements. The hotel El Leon de Oro (The Golden Lion) is neat and well kept, as well as reasonable in charges. There is an excellent market, pretty little Zocalo, and an admirable band of music composed of boys, from eleven to fifteen, belonging to the public schools.
In this country, on every hand, striking contrasts and marked characteristics present themselves. Everything is possessed of an individual interest—each person or object in itself striking—collectively furnishing fine groupings for pen or pencil.
It was in Toluca that I heard strains of natural, human music that could not be surpassed by the Miserere., or the most plaintive measures of the Requiem, and saw a life-picture that Hogarth, with his fine appreciation of the natural, would have loved to depict, and which would rival the real and the ideal creations of Salvator Rosa.
I was slowly walking along a humble street, noting the striking objects that to me had all the fascination of pictures for the child. I heard loud wails as of a woman in anguish, and in the plaintive patois of the town, the words "Pobrecita mia! Muerta! Muerta!" ("My poor little baby is dead! dead! ") Then followed low cries of ​calming grief, as though it were all driven back on the heart; then sobs, sighs, silence. Accompanying the mournful song of human agony, a mother's heart-breakings, with "pobrecita mia!" the perpetual refrain, I heard a solemn voice that was deep and mellow, with rich, persuasive inflections, half barbaric, but full of music, that seemed to charm away the wild grief that was welling up from her soul. The sobs ceased, the sighs were hushed, the consoling voice was silent. I looked in through the open portal and saw a touching life-scene—a tableau. An aged cura, clad in sweeping black gown, his long white locks streaming over his shoulders, stood with feeble, trembling, uplifted hand, his voice mute, his heart in prayer. Slowly his hand descended with the gentlest touch upon the bowed head of a poor, weeping Indian woman, kneeling at his feet, holding in her arms, hugged to her bosom, her dead baby.
Leaving Toluca to visit Morelia, the country presents the same aspect as seen elsewhere. Here and there rocky plains and sterile spots are guarded by glistening church towers, leaning against mountains covered with dark pines. Again, green fields and pastures, untold acres of alfalfa, wheat, and other cereals, inform us of a climatic change and a more favored condition of the soil.
To the end of our journey we have constantly in view the Nevado de Toluca, and are also haunted by a small river which follows us uninterruptedly, and is known as the Rio Lerma. Near Toluca there is a lake of the same name. The Lerma River, while at first appearing so insignificant, assumes in its course an important position, in the hydrography of a scantily watered country. It increases in size and volume as it flows through the States of Guanajuato, Mexico, and Michoacan de Ocampo—even passing through Lake Chalapa, and at last finds a suitable outlet in the waters of the great Pacific. On its long and tortuous course it changes its name several times—a custom not uncommon with Mexican streams.
At Flor de Maria there is a solitary station, with an excellent eating-house, connected with the railway. We pass near the rich ​mining region of El Oro and others—also the Cañon de las Zopolotes (turkey-buzzard)—and at length we reach Pomoca, near Tepeji del Rio. Here we have a reminder of the heroic death of one of Mexico's bravest sons—Melchor Ocampo. A house in ruins and a garden in dilapidation are interesting mementoes of his tragic death.
The quaint old towns of Maravatio and Acambaro, founded in the sixteenth century, also come forward with their stirring revolutionary recitals. Everywhere we are reminded of the unparalleled struggles of the Mexican people for liberty.
WATER-CARRIER OF GUANAJUATO.
The town of Acambaro is the dividing point of the National Railway, one branch extending to Celaya, with a prospect at some future day of reaching Saltillo, the present terminus of the eastern division. By the western division we proceeded to Morelia, then the terminus. The traveler, so desiring, may make a pleasant tour through the middle States by the National, and return to the capital by the Central road.
In closing our journey of twelve hours from Toluca to Morelia, we passed beside the lovely lake of Cuitzco, just as the lingering rays of a semi-tropical sun, with all their bright-tinted hues, were thrown across this picturesque lake. Cuitzco is the result of a volcanic convulsion, and its waters are salt. The wild scenery surrounding it is in keeping with the peculiar little mountains in the background, its rich ​vegetation interlaced with vines and flowers of tangled growth, in all making a scene in the short Mexican twilight well worth remembering.
Darkness closed us in from further observations, and at half-past nine we found ourselves comfortably settled in the Hotel de Michoacan. The camarista was both voluble and agreeable, with a hint of officiousness thrown in for good measure. At seven in the morning he entered our rooms without knocking, his hair standing erect upon his pumpkin-shaped head, and without preface or embarrassment stated it was not the custom in that part of the country to eat any desayuno (breakfast) except chocolate or coffee and bread. He evidently thought we looked doubtful as to the truth of his information, as well as of other marvelous things he told us concerning the hotel. To emphasize his statements, he stepped across the room and handed us each a copy of the regulations of the hotel. His face wore a masterly grin and his hair seemed to move back and forth "like quills upon the fretful porcupine," as he pointed exultingly to the literal English translation. He proudly directed our attention to Article XVIII., which read thus:
"In conformity with an order from the police, people coming to take lodgings into this hotel are obliged to let know their names, trades, and countries, as well as the place whence they do come, and those to which they are bound to, so that the whole be inscribed in a book which is kept for that purpose at the hotel office."
Article VII. informed us that:
"In the amount of room rent, the inward room service and the candle for enlightening it at night are only included; whatever other service the lodger may require is to be considered an extra charge, and, of course, paid for separately."
On reading this, I asked him if he did not also furnish matches. He turned his head, disdainfully surveying us from the height of his superior knowledge, as he replied with increasing emphasis and long-drawn intonation: "No señora, en este hotel siempre faltan jabon y cerillos" ("In this hotel we never furnish soap or matches").
Here were the identical words of Pomposo at the San Carlos! The ​possibility of a pre-arrangement flashed across me, of course to be instantly rejected. The printed rules were before us, thirty of them, mostly restrictive. But in my travels I found every hotel well provided in this respect, the English translations being always waggish in their literalness.
The lover of ancient art, and of objects that have a history, may find in Mexico an inexhaustible fund of interest in visiting the numerous convents that exist everywhere. In many cases they have been purchased by private individuals and are used as residences. The government owns others, and has established in them colleges and municipal and industrial schools. In no place have I found these establishments more interesting than at Morelia. One of the most extensive is El Carmen, the venerable convent of the Carmelites. We visited it one evening, but time did not permit us to explore its spacious interior, and we decided to return and complete the inspection.
The Carmelites, on leaving the country, had presented this convent, with all its belongings, to a private citizen.
We visited many others, and always with an increasing desire to investigate further these remnants of the past. Among them were San Juan de Dios, La Merced, and San Diego. Special mention belongs to the last named. The convent of San Diego stands at the opening of the San Pedro Park. Attached to it is the sanctuary of Guadalupe, erected in 1708, a beautiful specimen of Doric architecture, adorned with columns, entablatures, and shields. This consecrated building served as a retreat for the bishop and clergy. The convent was founded by the will of a citizen of Valladolid, who in 1747 left $21,000 for that purpose, with the condition that the sanctuary be annexed to it. Accordingly the building was erected and the old sanctuary enlarged. Many years later the magnificent altar was constructed which now adorns the church. The tall cypresses which screen the entrance were planted in 1807. They no longer shelter the devotees nor the monks pacing up and down in pious meditation; for the convent of San Diego, like so many others, has been secularized, ​and families and individuals enjoy the rare privilege of dwelling in these noble tenements with their frescoed walls and deep recesses.
Our curiosity was not satisfied with regard to El Carmen, one of the oldest and most dismantled of all the convents in Morelia, having been established in 1593. Intent upon gratifying this curiosity, we bent our steps thither quite early one morning and were amply repaid. In many places the walls were moss-grown and dilapidated, while here and there the tangled vines and grasses and broken columns gave emphasis to the signs of decay that marked the ruin. Sitting complacently upon a broken, fallen column, we beheld an object that filled us with horror—an Indian mendigo, a representation in one, of the ancient Aztec, the pobre Mexicano, and the gentleman of the nineteenth century.
AN OBJECT OF HORROR
His head was covered by a mass of straggling black hair that fell like the mane of a buffalo over his penetrating black eyes, which were turned upon us with a furtive suspiciousness by no means comfortable. He was barefooted and shirtless. His trousers of white cotton were of rather insignificant dimensions, having only a full width to each leg. Surmounting the whole, tipped slightly to one side, was an ancient stove-pipe hat. Time did not admit of a further inspection, and taking refuge in some rapid evolutionary movements, we rushed through the big open doors, which creaked mournfully on their hinges, on into the vault-like hall, up the steep, shaky steps. It never occurred to us to look back, so sure were we that this remarkable specimen of humanity was in close pursuit. At the top of the stairway, ere we had recovered our breath. ​magically a door opened and a swarthy, dark face peeped out, as if to say, "What in the world are you two women doing here?" We took no time to see how he looked; and shaking with alarm, yet convulsed with laughter, we turned hastily from this dark hall to one a little less obscure. The unusual noise and scampering of feet attracted the attention of the occupant of another room, and before we could catch our breath, another door opened and the head of a veritable Apollo looked out. This last apparition was too much, and the floor, polished by the feet of past generations, seemed to give way beneath our own, and we collapsed on its slippery surface. Overcome by imaginary terrors, we calmly awaited our fate. Seeing our alarm and ghost-like paleness, he came forth with the manner characteristic of an accomplished Mexican gentleman, and kindly offered to serve us in any way possible. Madame de C—— quickly explained, in beautiful Spanish, the cause of our fright and consequent flight, and before she had finished he, too, was in the full enjoyment of our unexpected merriment.
Ere we had arisen from our humble position on the floor, we glanced upward at the walls, lined with pictures, where our attention was riveted upon one of them which would of itself have put us to flight. It represented some penitents at confession, while the devil, painted red, pranced around on all fours, evidently angered because these devotees were lost to him.
Our Apollo informed us that he was a law student in one of the colleges, and had chosen a room in El Carmen because of its peculiar quietude. He accompanied us in a deliberate inspection of the time-stained office. It is doubtful, however, if we were in a sufficiently equable frame of mind to contemplate serenely the beauties of the numerous exquisite paintings which adorned the walls. The grand old organ stood mute yet eloquent; its language uttered in the past, its tones never more to be repeated.
When we descended to the ground, the cause of our fears sat unmoved, not having changed his position since we left him, save tipping his hat a little more to one side, while the expression on his ​face was as guiltless of any knowledge of our approach as his body was of a shirt.
Probably the largest bachelor establishment on the American continent, perhaps in the world, is that of Baron Guillermo Wodon de S——. In the war of reform, when church property was confiscated and sold to the highest bidder, this gentleman became the purchaser of an extensive convent, and no transformation could have been more complete than that he wrought in the venerable building. The walls which had echoed only the sighs and prayers of pious nuns now resounded with the voices of the bachelor occupant and his bons-camarades. That the Baron makes an admirable host, we, with our friends, can testify, having been delightfully entertained at this metamorphosed hall. Our entertainer combined the grace and courtesy of the manner of his native country with that of the land of his adoption.
A more charming climate, both summer and winter, is not to be found in the republic than that of Michoacán, which is sixty English miles from the capital. It is so temperate that one experiences no dizziness.
The State is rich in minerals—gold, silver, and precious stones. It possesses woods of endless variety. Among them we saw in the museum the cork tree, pitch-pine, red and white cedar, red, white, and black walnut, wild olive, mahogany, poplar, ash, red and white oak, willow, laurel, beech, rosewood, ebony, and many others impossible to mention. Everywhere in the State fine fruits abound, and skirting as it does the tierra caliente, those of both tropical and temperate climes alike flourish. Here, for the first time, I saw in perfection the chirimolla and granadita.
In 1839 Madame Calderon de la Barca made the journey from the capital to Morelia on horseback, and regretted that so much beauty was wasted. She says: "We are startled by the conviction that this enchanting variety of hill and plain, wood and water, is for the most part unseen by human eye and untrod by human footstep." These beauties are now no longer concealed. The railway has penetrated ​the country in more than one direction, and has rendered accessible its most romantic scenery, while opening up its varied and valuable productions.
The district of Uruapan has become famous for its exquisite lacquered ware bearing the same name, and which has received gold prizes at the Philadelphia, Vienna, and Paris Expositions. The finest specimens of the work yet exhibited, strange to relate, have been executed by two or three families. As explained to me by one of the workers in the market of Morelia, simple old-fashioned gourds, generally cut into plaques, are used as the basis of operations. They first apply some neutral tint as the groundwork, after which the artist, with an ordinary pocket-knife, makes the design in either fruit or flowers—perhaps after the order of an engraver on wood—and then, little by little, the colors are deftly put into these indentures by the fingers, time being allowed for each to become entirely dry before adding another. These paints are prepared by the Indians themselves from the native dye-woods, and as a variety of colors is used in the process, much time is expended in making this wonderful ware. Not the least important in the various processes employed, is that of rubbing, when thoroughly dry, the entire picture with a curious admixture of oily substances, of which the ordinary caterpillar is the principal. But there is good sense, and reason as well, in resorting to so obnoxious a thing as a caterpillar, for it completes an object that is not only one of great utility, resisting alike grease and water, but also gives a ware that is to the last, even when worn into shreds, an article of fadeless beauty.
In the State of Michoacán there is the most picturesque lake in the republic. Since my visit there the railway has reached its shores, rudely awakening it from the slumber of ages. Humboldt visited Pátzcuaro, and speaks of the lake as rivaling the world-famed Lake of Geneva. Even in this land of grand and romantic scenery it stands alone in its exceeding loveliness. A pleasure boat has been recently launched upon its limpid waters for the recreation of health-seekers and tourists. The town of Pátzcuaro supplies good accommodations ​in its comfortable hostelries, and its inhabitants are fully alive to the advantages of being in communication with the rest of the world.
The early Spanish fathers appreciated the natural beauties of this region, and founded here a bishopric and the College of San Nicolas, which, however, were both subsequently removed to Valladolid, the college being united with that of San Miguel in 1580, at the same time transferring its name to the latter institution.
The tourist visiting any of the larger cities of Mexico is much surprised to find schools and colleges with modern equipments such as would reflect credit upon any country.
At Morelia the most notable of the colleges are the "Colegio de San Nicolas"—of which Hidalgo was regent—and "El Seminario." Each of these has about five hundred pupils. The Church, or Conservative party, patronize and control "El Seminario," while the Liberals maintain the former. A bitter feud has been naturally aroused between the students of the two schools, and not so very long ago they would draw themselves up in battle array, and proceed to pelt each other with stones until all were satisfied.
COLLEGE OF SAN NICOLAS.
San Nicolas was the first institution of learning established on the American continent, having ​been founded about the year 1540. Two or three years later, in 1543, it was placed under the protection of the Emperor Carlos V.
A magnificent library that is open to the public is connected with this institution. The population of the city is about forty thousand, and its public benefactions are numerous and excellent. Among them I noted a hospital for men, and a separate one for women; Civil Hospital, Hospital del Corazon de Jesus, and Monte de Piedad, and many others. Not only are these institutions cleanly and well kept, but they are also spacious and airy. Since the reform war, and the separation of Church and State, many of the convents have been converted into hospitals. The afflicted inmates have a permanent and agreeable source of diversion in gazing upon the highly embellished walls of these stately institutions.
There are separate prisons for men and women, and also a general penitentiary. Cotton factories and other industrial establishments, including the manufacture of exquisite pottery, place Morelia in the van of progressiveness. The temples of worship are magnificent, and the public edifices of great elegance, while well-kept panthcons (cemeteries), paseos and alamedas add to the long list of its attractions. A favorite place of recreation is the beautiful avenue known as the Calzada de Guadalupe. It was originally constructed for the accommodation of the faithful who visited the Sanctuary of Guadalupe, where it terminated.
The Morelianos are exceedingly conservative, and neither Americans nor other foreigners have obtained any extensive foothold; nevertheless, there is a growing undercurrent of liberalism, which in many ways manifests itself. They have a city of many natural advantages, but while it is one of the most beautiful and interesting in the republic, it will be many years before the Anglo-Saxon race will reside there in great numbers.
We are everywhere forcibly reminded of Spanish domination in the architecture, which, like the language, has changed but little. Cities may differ in building materials, but the ancient Spanish is universally copied. However, it must be acknowledged that the Anglo​Saxon can make no improvement on the style of architecture in its suitability to the climate and the exclusive lives of the people. But there is often seen a free admixture of every known order of architecture, for in a newly finished building we saw the Doric, Corinthian, Pompeian, Romanesque, and Spanish. The interior decorations were exclusively in the gorgeous Pompeian.
To the stranger the most attractive points in the prevailing architecture
MONUMENT TO MORELOS—"CALLE REAL".
are the portales, those inviting retreats along the sidewalks, and the aqueducts, which may be seen for miles, with their high, massive arches, through which one catches glimpses of blue sky, lofty mountain peaks, and peaceful valleys, animated with charming pastoral scenes.
The city has stately proportions and attractions that are peculiar ​to itself. We never tired of exploring the historic places which have from its founding been objects of unfailing interest to all visitors and travelers. Calle Real was an especial source of pleasure as we viewed it from the Plaza of the Martyrs, upon the corner of which stands the monument erected to Morelos. Watching the itinerant venders from our shady retreat, and the idlers who added their statuette-like figures to the monument, the whole resting tranquilly under the motionless trees above them, we could but feel that the hapless poor have an aptitude for posing, and in lending themselves to this occasion the scene was at once thoroughly harmonious and national.
One gets strong ideas of imperialism in the decorations and furnishings of the municipal buildings and halls of congress. A city of twelve or fifteen thousand inhabitants has the mayor's ofifice fitted up as if that functionary were a representative of royalty. The legislative halls have an appearance of regal magnificence with their immense, lofty apartments, gayly frescoed and lined with portraits of the governors of the State; mirrors, chandeliers, and carpets of richest texture; and the dais with its canopied chair for the executive. For me, all this splendor, while it suggested the influence of the viceroys, found a suitable solution in the national love of bright colors and display.
Two lines of chairs facing each other extend from the dais to the further extremity of the hall, where another official occupied his elevated seat, but without the canopy.
The legislature was then in session, and having letters to Governor Jimenez, then newly installed, we were courteously invited by him to visit the palace. We gladly accepted and had the additional pleasure of seeing that august body in session in this the Virginia of Mexico. If Morelia has gained that name, it is not alone because of her many distinguished sons, who have long since passed from these living scenes, but, without intending or wishing to detract from the men of any other part of the Republic, the members of the legislature of Michoacan were the most commanding in appearance of ​any assemblage that I saw in the country. The dark, Indian type prevailed, with large, well-shaped heads, eyes of unusual brilliancy, broad, square shoulders, erect figure, and graceful bearing.
In one of her admirable descriptive letters Mme. de C. thus mentions the hospitality of the citizens of Morelia: "The tropical banana and many creeping vines with gorgeous blossoms, among them the Bougamvilla, hanging in great clusters of pink, crimson, and purple, such as we do not see elsewhere, beautify the patios of the hospitable Morelianos, who, when the stranger stops to admire the luxuriant growth and wonderful coloring of the flowers, cordially invite him to enter and examine at leisure." Of the hospitality of the Morelianos to us, she says: " I wish there were time and space to tell of their kindly reception of two foreigners; of the simple yet elegant manner in which the family of the intelligent young editor of the Gazeta Oficial (Official State Paper), Señor Ojeda, entertained them at an afternoon tea, and of the gracious goodness of which the honored visitors were the grateful recipients from other kind acquaintances, to whom letters of introduction were presented."
My personal tribute is, that in all my travels in Mexico no place has left upon my mind more pleasing or lasting impressions. Though so conservative, the hospitality of its people is pure and genuine.
FIRST PATIO IN COLLEGE OF SAN NICOLAS.
Our own distinguished countrywoman, Mrs. Mary Halleck Foote, like Madame Calderon, made the journey from Morelia to the capital on horseback. Her admirable illustrations of the scenes in and about that quaint old city, together with her ​charming descriptions of the people, appeared in the Century Magazine for 1881-82. She says: "I had fallen into that helpless attitude toward the outer world which is like a spell over the women of the country. The return of the engineers and the discussion of plans for our homeward journey on horseback broke up the dream—one last drive on the paseo in the splendor of the low sunset light, then a bustle of packing, and talk of saddles and horses, servants for the road, and of steamer days and telegrams, last calls and a sense of multiplied obligations, which fate might never permit us fitly to recognize. When the railroad is completed, and the tides of travel ebb to and fro, if our friends of Casa G—— are among those northward bound, may they find as gracious and courteous a welcome as they gave the strangers within their gates."
The closing wish finds a hearty echo in the breasts of two other American women who gratefully add their heartfelt testimony to the kindness and hospitality of the dwellers in that historic city. Just four years after Mrs. Foote's visit, Madame de C—— and myself bade our entertainers there a warm, and sad adios.
Our two weeks' vacation had drawn to a close. At the hour when the mellow chimes of the grand cathedral were calling to matins, when the sound of bells far away in Indian villages fell softly on the newly awakened senses, the military responding with drum and bugle-call, we bade adieu to this delightful mediæval city and its interesting inhabitants, and returned with mental and physical energies renewed to our complex nineteenth century life and its manifold duties.