and are addressed by gentlemen, by their christian names, and those who have paid me more than one or two visits, use the same familiar mode of address to me. Amongst women I rather like this, but it somewhat startles my ideas of the fitness of things to hear a young man address a married woman, as Maria, Antonia, Anita, &c. However, things must be taken as they are meant, and as no familiarity is intended, none should be supposed. . . .
But these visiters are gone, and into the open court the consolatory moon is shining. All clouds have passed away, and the blue of the sky is so blue, as to dazzle the eyes even in the moonlight. Each star shines out, bright, golden and distinct, and it seems a sin to sleep, and to lose so lovely a night. . . . . But for a true night view, mount upon the Azotea, and see all Mexico sleeping at your feet; the whole valley and the city itself floating in moonlight; the blue vault above gemmed with stars, and the mountains all bathed in silver, the white volcanoes seeming to join earth and sky. Here, even Salvator's genius would fail. We must evoke the ghost of Byron. The pencil can do nothing. Poetry alone might give a faint idea of a scene so wondrously beautiful.
26th.—We went yesterday with Mr. M, his wife and daughter and a padre to visit the Archbishop's palace at Tacubaya, a pretty village about four miles from Mexico, and a favorite ride of ours in the morning. The country round Mexico, if not always beautiful, has the merit of being original, and on the road to Tacubaya, which goes by Chapultepec, you
