TRAVELS IN MEXICO.
A monument here, a plain shaft, records the brave deeds of the Mexican cadets in their defence of the castle. Nowhere in the vicinity of the capital are grouped so many reminders of Mexico's glorious history; nowhere except in the Museum is there so much to attract one, or so much to absorb his attention after he is there.
Back of the grove is Molino del Rey, the King's Mill, where the Americans lost so many men in capturing this key to the defences of the city. The great building is now used as a foundry for ordnance, and stands as on that memorable day in '47 in all its ugliness. On the hill above is a monument to the Mexican soldiers who fell in the action, and from this point the eye takes in at a glance the entire situation,—Molino del Rey and Chapultepec, the fall of which determined that of the city. Down on the plains below are the sites of the battle-fields of Churubusco and Contreras, where obstinate fights occurred.
Dolores, the cemetery of the aristocracy, lies behind these hills, surrounded with fields of pulque plants, and the pleasant resort of Tacubaya, with palatial mansions and beautiful gardens, occupies the slopes where the city of Mexico ought to have been built. A tramway leads direct from the city, past Chapultepec, to Tacubaya, and thence circles round to the lovely hamlet of San Angel,—formerly famous as a gambling centre, and even now worthy an extensive reputation in that respect,—where are annual feasts of flowers, resorted to by the population of Mexico.
Secluded amongst gardens of fruits and flowers, except on feast and gambling days quiet as the grave, no one would suspect that San Angel was the resort of pestiferous robbers and cut-throats. Yet it is, and the pedregal, or stony lava plain, bordering the town, which is full of caves and fissures, is the hiding-place of numerous thieves and murderers. The shepherds, half-naked Indians in ragged blankets, who watch over small flocks of goats and sheep, are the guardians of the villains who hide there, and are not over reputable themselves.
"But more Northwestward, three Leagues from Mexico," says good Friar Gage, "is the pleasantest Place of all that are about
