Southern standard. (McMinnville, Tenn.) 1879-current, 1888-04-07
a MEXICAN JouRNEY.
a Wide-Awako Yankee Adrift in tho Fag.
End of the Middle Ages.

End of the Middle Ages.
There is sixteenth century flavor
about Mexico that disposes to an apol-
Ogetic mood the traveller who travels
in that country behind locomotive
Notwithstanding the changes wrought
during the past half century, and still
more notably during the past half
dozen years, Mexico still is pervadcd
by so generous and so gracious afavor
of antiquity that steam traction there
seems as homogeneous as the conduct
OF express business by pack-mules
would seem here. However, the dis
position TO apologize is lessened by an
attempt to travel on the high roads by
diligencia; and it is reduced to min
imum by even very short journey
along tho by-paths of the country on
horseback with luggage-train of
mules. This latter experience amaz-
ingly increases ones respect for such Of
ones ancestors as went upon crusades.
And, after all, the traveller who is thus
retrojected into the sixteenth century.
along with such an eminently nine
teenth century environment Us Pull
man car, appreciates more keenly the
sharpness Of the change than il, for the
time being. he endeavored to conform
his actions to his newly-acquired
standard OF antiquity.
As We stood on the platform Of tho
Colonia station, in the City of Mexico.
waiting to have our luggage weighed.
and saw dozen pilgrims bound for
the shrine of Los Remedies filing into a
third-class car, am sure that we got
more satisfaction from the knowledge
that we were to travel by rail in COM
pany with a Medieval Survival. than
we should, had we been travelling on
horseback, and so had overhauled those
same pilgrims on the road. Some
how, third-class pilgrim struck us
as good. And ms the train pulled out
from the station l telt curious thrill
the like of which certainly did not
feel in walking over it-as l saw to
the right the causeway along which
the Spaniards retreated on the Dismal
Night; and then. still through the win.
dow of a nineteenth-century railway
car, the very tree beneath which, that
July night three hundred and sixty
eight years ago. Cortes sat down and
wept because of his defeat As we
passed through the little town OF
Tacuba-its low, fat-roofed Moorish
houses grouped around its great
church-we saw train of pack-mules
halted until our steam pack-train
should pass. On the highway that we
ran parallel with were many Moorish.
looking igures-men in muslin shirts
and trousers, with blankets hanging
from their shoulders; women shroud-
ed in pale-blue rsbosos which hung
down In graceful folds, and in a de-
lightful combination of color, over
their pale pink skirts. Now and then
we would sec little roadside chapel.
before the open door Of which q
group of wayfaring men and women
had stopped to pray; and in passing
which those who were too dolent to
kneei did not fail 10 remove theil
great straw hats, reverently, while
they crossed themselves. In short,
we found ourselves back in the age
of Cervantes-a paunchy little man
whom we saw riding along upon an
ambling ass, the TANKS whereof he
pounded in desultory fashion with
his heels. we would have sworn was
Sanch himself-and every thing but
ourselves and our railroad train
} seemed to be a. round three hundred
years old. Later. it is true. the
sharp edge Of all this wore off little;
but it never wholly was lost. Through
out this particular journey, and only
little less keenly in others which
followed it in subsequent years, oul
feeling was that of being happily
adrift in the iag-end of the Middle
Ages, with palpably picturesque sur
] roundings, and enveloped in an at
, mosphere subtly saturated witt
romance. Cor. NJ Y Post