pultepec.--Molina del
Rey.--Tacubaya.--Don Manuel Escandon.--The Tobacco Monopoly.--The
Palace of Escandon.--The "Desierto."--Hermits.--Monks in the Conflict
with Satan.--Our Lady of Carmel.

My residence was near the _Paseo Nuevo_, and at evening, while the sun
had yet an hour of his daily task to finish, I habitually sauntered
forth for a walk up and down the Paseo, to look at the crowd of
coaches, with tops thrown back, so that the bare-headed ladies, in full
dress for dinner, might enjoy the evening air, acquire an appetite, and
salute their friends by presenting the backs of their hands, while they
twirled their fingers at them with a hearty smile. Gentlemen on
richly-caparisoned horses dashed along between the rows of advancing
and returning carriages, stopping now and then by the side of a
well-known carriage to exchange salutations, or, by an exhibition of a
well-timed embarrassment, proclaim the favored object of their
evening's ride. Crowds of foot-passengers sauntered along the
road-side, looking at the rich display made by the aristocracy and
nobility of the republic. At the entrance of the Paseo, in front of the
amphitheatre, where on Sundays bulls are tortured to death as a popular
amusement, is the equestrian bronze statue of Carlos IV., the work of
Tolsa, who, as artist and architect, has won for himself undying renown
at Mexico. The garden of Tolsa, the College of Mines, and the bronze
horse, testify to the greatness of his genius. Half way down the Paseo
is a fountain, around which two semicircles of coaches place themselves
for a little time, to look on the passing current of carriages and
horsemen. They soon disappear as the sun shows symptoms of descending
behind the mountains. On Sundays the scene is more animated, and then
the President, with his body-guard of lancers, and attendants in
scarlet livery, is seen to dash into the Paseo, ride down and return
through the Alameda, among whose trees and fountains the Sabbath crowds
most do congregate.

One morning when all was quiet in this place of display, I rode down
the street of San Francisco, and turned up the Paseo between the prison
of the Acordado and the bronze horse. There was nothing to disturb the
monotony that now reigned but cabs or omnibuses on their way to or
returning from Tacubaya. Passing through the open gate of Belin, I rode
along at the side of the aqueduct to the rock of Chapultepec.

CYPRESSES OF CHAPULTEPEC.

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