variety of languages—the capital of Mexico may well claim to be one of the most interesting cities in the world and with scarcely a rival in what constitutes a luxurious and charming abode for man. Compactly and regularly built, principally of stone, the first impression is of strength and solidity. The eye rests upon imposing churches, convents and public buildings of curious architecture and adorned with venerable sculpture; shops with richly emblazoned signs and filled with costly imported goods; sumptuously furnished saloons; ancient market places standing on the site of those of the Aztec kingdom; aqueducts, statues and fountains. The stranger observes with the deepest interest the movements of this quaint old capital isolated among the mountains; its gaudy equipages, its fashion and elegance, its discordant sounds and piercing street cries, its evidences of enormous wealth and squalid wretchedness. Beggars and millionaires; stolid looking Indians wrapped in parti colored serape, and veiled ladies sailing along under the folds of the graceful mantilla. Officers airing their epaulettes; cavalrymen in showy uniforms; priests in long black gowns and shovel hats; street musicians, venders of all sorts of wares— everything denoting the various grades of society in a populous country. The mode of life differs little, if any, from that of most large Spanish-American cities: the early rising to enjoy the fresh balmy air; the morning coffee, ride, bath and pasear; the breakfast at noon; the afternoon siesta; dinner, and the evening's amusements of ball, theatre, or the bands performing on the grand plaza or at the Alemeda. It is a city of clock-towers and bells. Night and day their deep-mouthed voices continually remind one of the omnipresent Catholic church, its solemnities and forms.
During the Empire, there were many excellent restaurants, where French cooks held sway and made happy the epauletted gourmands who assembled there to dine and exchange noisy local gossip. A mile out of town on the Tacubaya road were the famous Tivoli gardens, where, under the most inviting of little pavilions, were laid tables for breakfast or dinner, amid the rustling of the cool tropical foliage and the notes of birds flitting about in the leafy stillness. Here, too, the most obsequious of French servants uncorked the champagne, prepared your pousse café and aided you in lighting the fragrant Havana. Not at the Trois Freres in Paris, nor at Delmonico's in New York, shall you find whiter table linen, more devoted attendance, or more exquisite cooking.
In the winter of 1864 the Emperor and Empress resided at the castle of Chapultepec, about three miles from the city, (famous in the history of our Mexican war) and rode thence every morning to the palace in town for transaction of public business, generally arriving at nine o'clock and returning at five. Both were early risers, and were constantly employed. A file of Belgian troops always stood in the palace gateway, and presented arms, amid the rolling of drums and sounding of bugles, to the Imperial carriage as it passed out or in. This was an open barouche of English manufacture, modestly ornamented, and drawn by four large dun-colored mules with silver-mounted harness. These were a part.of the Imperial stables, and were presented by a wealthy Mexican at or near Guanajuato. They were said to be the finest mules in Mexico, and of a value far exceeding that of the most approved blood horses, of which Maximilian had several, in charge of English grooms: for it was the policy of the Emperor to conform as much as possible to the customs of his adopted land.
One of the animals was ridden by a Mexican driver, and four Mexican outriders surrounded the equipage; two riding on either side and keeping close to the barouche, and two about five
