Birmingham age-herald., 1894-08-30
THE SPELL OF PEACE.
CALMLY FLOWING DAYS WHERE HuR-
 RY IS NOT KNOWN.

Views of an American Writer on Life In
 Mexico, Where He Has Resided Long
 Enough to Absorb Philosophic Way of
 Looking at Things.
 have frequently said that south of the Rio Grande one finds whole nation of philosophers, on the whole the most con tented, tranquil people on tho face of the globe. There is great peace prevailing this pleasant and sunny land. You note the change immediately that you cross the boundary river from bustlng, energetic Texas into dreamy, happy Mexico.
 If, as we must believe, the acme of human felicity is attained when one has arrived at perfect content of spirit then we must admit that the Mexican people are as near to the realization of the dream of Howells and Bellamy as may be imag- ined. True, there are sharp divisional lines of caste here, and in this Mexico is not what the Altrurian traveller has imag- ined or what Bellamy has dreamed, but the Mexicans have reached the results imagined by those authors without mak- ing use of their leveling, communistic the ories
 The separation of nation into castes tends to contentment. Born peon, you expect so to remain, and not being ambi- tious you are happy in being simply what you are, and you have no notion of trying to be oaballero, or gentleman.
 It is a delight to sec restful, tranquil wonen and one finds them in Mexico, and that, too, among the higher classes, who have travelled, have really lived in Paris not merely fitting through that brilliant ital har ho o;, New York and looked on at the varied life of northern lands and have come home to rest and be happy the remainder of their useful, charming lives. They are content to be merely women, wives and mothers and the proof of their happiness is to be read in their tranquil, cheerful glance
 These women read and often in differ ent tongues. They have many accomplish ments and are always good housekeepers and are hospitable hostesses in their quiet way. The great content of this tropical land rests on them, these charming wom- en of faith and good works, of unvarying sweetness of character. You should see their grownup sons affectionately kiss their hands and witness the love and rev erence given them by their daughters. Mexico has produced something infinitely better than it's silver and gold-its women.
 In the humber classes one finds this same tranquil happiness. The poor wom- an, employed 15 hours a day in cotton mill, puts flowers in her window or hangs singing bird in it's cage on the wall, The women bearing burdens from the hills come trotting down the country roads with cheerful faces. These poor women throng on Sundays and at early hours on week days the little country churches and are the better for the sincerity of their faith.
 In every little town in Mexico you find flowers, central garden or park and hear the song of birds. Roses, red and white, climb the garden walls and hang over the edge to salute you as you pass by. One comes to love the country lanes, with their rose or geranium hedges or their lofty walls on either side hiding great cool gar dens, where the fountains play all day.
 Everywhere courtesy, from the peon in the field to the hacendado on his capari- soned steed-,-a land of calmly flowing days. where hurry is unknown Go to Morelia' or Queretaro if you wish to leave the mod ern world of daily papers, telephones and railway rush. You will bo in the sixteenth century, where you may rest
 The happiest men know on this planet live in Mexico. One is monk who lives and meditates in an old convent which stands in great orchard, and the other is a blind man of 60 years, who is as cheer full as the unfailing sun of his land. Nei- ther of these mon has any property, neither may invite you to banquet open to youa a splendid library or show you treasures of art collected in wide travels yet you will be happy with him and enjoy serene hour. The monk is a saint, strayed from paradise, who lives here simply to let his light shine, as is commanded. An artist would like to paint his plain, good face. Young people go to sec him and value his counsels and friendship.
 The blind man is welcome guest at a hundred tables, where his wit and cheer ful conversation and wise philosophy of [; life make him often a domestic nrbiter. How much moro do our bustling million aires get out of life?
 My monk says: We have all of us, rich and poor, just 24 hours in a day. Eight we sleep, perhaps, if our digestion and our consciences are sound and ambi tion does not sit by our bedside planning, and the rest we have for work or recre ation. The whole business of life is to get out of those waking hours the greatest number of happy ones-those who fail to realize that 24 hours in the day are all we have, for we live only from day to day. and make tho best of them fail in lifc. Often the rich people fail the most stupidly." /"
 Hong ago became convinced that some of the sanest people on tho planet arc locked up in madhouses, and that the most un- happy lunatics are found in counting rooms, bank parlors and government of fees. The man who fails to get something of substantial happiness out of tho 24 hours is certainly stark mad. He may eat well, he may discreetly refrain from froth ing at the mouth, he may not cut any capers, but lunatic he is all the same.
 It is n pity that the old convents have been broken up so completely that only once in great while you may come upon