tion. They do not grind the maize, but soften it by potash, pulp it, and then prepare it for cooking. A smooth stone, inclined downward, two feet long, is the table. Behind it, on the ground, kneels the lady of the house. She rolls out the soft dough with a stone roller, takes up some of it, pats it and repeats it over and over, and lays it on a brazier—a large, slightly-hollowed dish, over a small fire kept up by dried maguey leaves. The cakes look nice in the making, and do not taste bad.
The rest of the ride is through softer scenery—rough along the roadside, but opening into broad fields and hollows of rich earth and culture. Zumpango and its lake lie over to the right or north, a little, nice town, and a handsome water. To the left you see a deep vale, crowded with trees. The stage turns toward it almost by instinct. We wind down, and enter among green fields and trees, all out in their new spring attire. A square in a preliminary village, called Santa Maria, is especially charming. On we drive amidst these tender and brilliant fields and foliage, the barley a foot high, the grass velvety, and ash and oak superb in volume and color. The river Tula is crossed, English in its quiet, shallowness, and munificence of trees; and we put our sick mules to the jump, and run through the plaza of Tula. This is a town not less than a thousand years old. It was settled by the Toltees in the eighth century. Stone pillars still attest their presence and power. It was too late to visit them; but one called Malinehe was pointed out to me in a hill-side overhanging the green hollow. I tried to get a boy to go with me, but failed; so I started alone.
The country always whips the town when brought into fair competition. As I strolled through these rural lanes, with their fresh fields and pastures, even their trees all in their best attire, I thought "Mexico is cheap to this." I crossed a bridge which had little openings on each side, with iron railings, to let you look down into the stream. What bridge in America is equally excellent? Not one of our costly spans has a place for rest and observation. Will the East River be thus favored? If it is, few spots for rest and observation will be more popular.
