bling mass
of Moorish architecture, with a fine tower, the whole sadly out of
repair, yet plainly speaking of past grandeur.

On the way to these islands by the Paseo de la Viga, we pass through an
out-door vegetable market, which is remarkable for the size of some of
the specimens offered for sale; radishes were displayed which were as
large as beets, also plethoric turnips, overgrown potatoes, ambitious
carrots, and broad spread heads of lettuce as big as a Mexican sombrero.
There were many sorts of greens for making salads, of which the average
Mexican is very fond, besides flowers mingled with tempting fruits, such
as oranges, lemons, melons, and pineapples. The latter, we suspect, must
have come from as far south as Cordova. Young Indian girls, with
garlands of various-colored poppies about their necks, like the natives
of Hawaii, offered us for a trifle tiny bouquets made of rosebuds,
pansies, violets, tube-roses, and scarlet geraniums, all grown close at
hand on these misnamed floating islands. One low, thatched adobe cabin,
between the roadway and the canals, in Santa Anita, was covered with a
mammoth blooming vine, known here as the _copa de oro_. Its great yellow
flowers were indeed like cups of gold, inviting our attention above all
the other floral emblems for which the little Indian village is famous.
Great quantities come daily from this suburb to supply the city demand,
and especially on the occasion of the floral festivals, which have their
headquarters in the plaza and the alameda, as elsewhere described.

There is much to be seen and enjoyed in these brief excursions by
tramway into the environs of the city. One should not forget to take the
cars which start from the west side of the Plaza Mayor, and which pass
through the Riviera de San Cosme out to the village of Popotla, where
the famous "Noche-triste" tree is to be seen. It is situated about three
miles from the plaza. Cortez is said to have sat down under its branches
and wept over his misfortunes when he was obliged to retreat from the
capital, on the night of July 1, 1520, still known as the "Dismal
Night." Whether this story be true or otherwise, it matters very little.
Suffice it that this big gnarled tree is held sacred and historic by the
citizens, and is always visited by strangers who come to the capital. It
is of the cedar family, and its dilapidated condition, together with the
size of the trunk, shows its great antiquity. At present it