he slight parapet gives security, while hindering a too
free view from below; you see, without being seen. The world moves on,
busied with earthly affairs, and does not think of looking up.

I stand upon such an azotea: it is that over the house of the alcalde;
and his being the tallest roof in the village, I command a view of all
the others. I can see beyond them all, and note the prominent features
of the surrounding country. My eye wanders with delight over the deep
rich verdure of its tropic vegetation; I can even distinguish its more
characteristic forms--the cactus, the yucca, and the agave. I observe
that the village is girdled by a belt of open ground--cultivated
fields--where the maize waves its silken tassels in the breeze,
contrasting with the darker leaves of the capsicums and bean-plants
(frijoles). This open ground is of limited extent. The _chapparal_,
with its thorny thicket of acacias, mimosae, ingas, and robinias--a
perfect maze of leguminous trees--hems it in; and so near is the verge
of this jungle, that I can distinguish its undergrowth of stemless
_sabal_ palms and bromelias--the sun-scorched and scarlet leaves of the
_pita_ plant shining in the distance like lists of fire.

This propinquity of the forest to the little pueblita bespeaks the
indolence of the inhabitants; perhaps not. It must be remembered that
these people are not agriculturists, but _vaqueros_ (herdsmen); and that
the glades and openings of that thick chapparal are speckled with herds
of fierce Spanish cattle, and droves of small sharp-eared Andalusian
horses, of the race of the Barb. The fact of so little cultivation does
not abnegate the existence of industry on the part of the villagers.
Grazing is their occupation, not farming; only a little of the latter to
give them maize for their _tortillas_, chile to season it with, and
black beans to complete the repast. These three, with the half-wild
beef of their wide pastures, constitute the staple of food throughout
all Mexico. For drink, the denizen of the high table-land find his
favourite beverage--the rival of champagne--in the core of the gigantic
aloe; while he of the tropic coast-land refreshes himself from the juice
of another native endogen, the acrocomia palm.

Favoured land! Ceres loves thee, and Bacchus too. To thy fields both
the god and the goddess have been freely bounteous. Food and drink may
be had from them on easy terms. Alas! as in all other lands--