saddle and bridle so richly wrought in silver that it scarce belonged to every-day life, and an embarrassment of luxury in the way of trappings that would have weighed upon a less noble-spirited animal. The boy himself, in silver trimmed sombrero, yellow buckskin costume with its precious tassels and fringes of shining metal, impassive, handsome face, olive skin, great dark eyes, and small foot high arched as a girl's, looked like some young prince riding through a fairy tale in search of adventure. The dagger-hilt in his silken sash, and the swarthy groom with his belt thrust full of pistols and cartridges riding behind, gave glimpses of some other happenings which, thank Heaven, are rare as fairy tales in our quiet lives, and well nigh as possible. But, if tradition can be believed, they have been only too common here.
But chief of all interests to us in Queretaro was the fact of its having been the scene of one of the saddest pages in Mexican history, — the death of Maximilian. A heavy rain which had fallen the night before made the roads almost impassable with deep, clinging mud on the morning of the day we drove out to the sad little hillside of Las
