of plain or stained glass. Vines and hanging-plants cover the low stone balustrades; gilded cages of mocking-birds and parrots snare the sunshine under the cool arches; and inside the broad, dimly lighted salons and chambers, whatever luxurious taste can bring to aid comfort is lavishly supplied. A host of servants divide among them those more personal services which our rigid aristocrats prefer to render themselves, and a clap of the hands brings instantly a swift and silent attendant. Below, under the arches, on the ground floor, horses stand in their open stalls; there are carriage-rooms, storehouses, and servants' quarters: so that, when the great gates leading to the street are closed, all the elements of luxurious living are complete within. And yet not all the elements: these lavish establishments lack many things which we have been taught to consider necessary for even moderate comfort. Neither grates for fire in the tingling mornings and nights, nor hot-water pipes, nor set-bowls, nor spring-beds, nor kitchen-ranges, nor scores of other common helps, belong to the magnificent ménage of a Mexican nabob. As a partial recompense, their women do not break down before thirty-five with nervous
