CHAPTER V.
FROM BORDER TO CAPITAL ALONG THE MEXICAN CENTRAL.
VAMONOS!" shouts the smartly uniformed American conductor in the estacion on the further bank of the Rio Grande. This rhythmical Spanish word affords a pleasing contrast to its sharp prosaic equivalent known to us as "All aboard!" The bell rings, the engine shrieks and hisses, then smoothly we glide along in that crowning luxury of civilization —a Pullman car— into the "land of the cactus and sweet cacao."
The open plain stretched afar on this glorious, full-moon night, and seemed, like the ocean, to blend its horizon with the heavens. No sound broke the stillness save the rumble of the train or the occasional shriek of the locomotive with its warning to the loitering cattle on the road-bed, all unconscious of their danger.
The location of El Paso, whose lights were fast fading in the distance behind us, is in every way desirable, being the connecting point of the Mexican Central with the railways of the United States. Five connecting lines of railway enter the city: the Galveston, Harrisburg and San Antonio; the Southern Pacific; the Texan Pacific; the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, with good prospects for another. There can be no doubt but that it will be a great railroad center and distributing point for the Southwest.
The town hugs the river closely and nestles snugly in a fertile valley, perhaps fifty miles long, in which, where irrigating facilities are obtained, wheat and corn are produced in great abundance. Its altitude is about three thousand five hundred feet above sea level, and the climate bears a strong resemblance to that of the table-lands of Mexico. The same irrigating ditches, lined on either side by stately cotton-wood trees, are serving the same purpose as when first constructed by the Jesuit missionaries, more than three hundred years ago. A circle of mountains to the north and east affords protection to the city from the sharp, penetrating winds that sweep over Texas from the plains of Kansas.
El Paso can boast of excellent hotels, the best being the Grand Central, and the possession of the only international street railway bridge in the world; also an interesting old church about three hundred years old. The greatest drawbacks, as a place of residence, are the clouds and columns of dust that for a great part of the year drive through the streets, entering the houses, and penetrating every nook and cranny.
The old town of Paso del Norte is the Mexican El Paso, as Nuevo Laredo is the Mexican Laredo. Each one is a necessary complement to the other. Paso del Norte has, however, great advantage in point of age, having been founded about the year 1680. The town to-day bears the imprint of all Mexican architecture. The cathedral, once a stately and imposing structure, even now, when bereft of the greater part of its interior adornments, speaks volumes of the lapse and the inroads of time. The nave, chancel, altar, and ceilings bear traces of exquisite and masterly workmanship, but tell a mournful tale of decay and faded grandeur.
The famous grapes that are grown at Paso del Norte are perhaps the most prolific and delicious known to us, and in that genial soil, where irrigation is so skillfully employed, they are produced in quantities, and shipped to all parts of the country.
Curious fences inclose the farms and gardens—a boxing of cotton wood poles filled in with mud or an earthen cement, making not only a secure, but a durable fence.
The country for perhaps two hundred miles on the west side of the Rio Bravo is but a counterpart of its neighbor, on the east or Texas side, for the same distance. Chihuahua, the first city on the Mexican Central, has become a prominent point for mining operations, and probably a larger number of Americans are congregated there than at any place outside the capital. It has a fine climate, is situated in a beautiful and fertile valley, with all the accessories of a healthful and thrifty population. One hundred years ago, however, Chihuahua was larger than New York; to-day the population does not exceed thirty
THE STREET OF GUADALUPE, CHIHUAHUA.
thousand. But it still has the beautiful cathedral and ancient aqueduct, and must always be important as a mining center. A branch of the Mexican mint is also established there.
The sleepy old town of Santa Rosalia, with a population of about seven thousand, is the next. It has known no change for nearly a half-century, though situated in the midst of a fine agricultural region, and having an industrious, orderly population.
Dr. Charles E. Tarver, with his wife and five children, has resided here for a number of years on account of the extreme healthfulness of the climate and the benefits the doctor has received for his protracted lung troubles. As their guest during my stay in Santa Rosalia nothing was more interesting than to watch these genuine American children transformed into veritable Mexicans. So thoroughly identified were these little people with the land of their adoption that in their daily play not one word of English was spoken; every movement, tone, gesture, and expression was entirely Mexican, even to their games and plays and reboso-wrapped dolls. The baby, christened Charles, repudiated his baptismal name and clung with infantile pertinacity to its Mexican synonym of Carlos, refusing to answer to any other. The next in age, Marianita, a little tot of three and a half years, interested me greatly with her wealth of golden curls and roguish face. She would sit on my lap by the hour entertaining me with the most amusing translations of Spanish into English and vice versa. One day her father returned from the barber's with head so closely shaven as to attract the attention of Marianita. Climbing upon his chair the closer to observe the result of this tonsorial manipulation, she exclaimed, to the amusement of us all: "Mi cabeza peloncita" ("My bald-headed squash")
Within a few years, warm springs have been discovered, that are said to possess wonderful healing properties.
My desire was intense to visit these springs, which must eventually prove a great health resort, but the difficulties attending such an undertaking were inconceivable.
The Rio Concha, which it was necessary to cross in order to reach the springs, was, at that time, out of its banks, and the only substitute for a boat, excepting the railway bridge, was an ordinary dry goods box manned by a brawny Indian. If we embarked at Santa Rosalia the prospects were fair of our disembarking ten or twenty miles below that point, so swift was the current; or, worse still, our primitive bark might be upset in mid-stream and ourselves and poor "Lo" left struggling in the muddy water. As the chances of so disastrous a termination to the voyage were very great, we concluded to forego the trip. The remains of an old adobe fort that was captured by Donaphan when he was en route to join General Taylor are still standing.
Santa Rosalia is a fair representative of a country town. But though its resources are limited, the inhabitants are not without their national recreations, having a pretty little plaza, in which twice a week the band plays. Especially do they celebrate the 5th of May and the 16th of September.
I enjoyed the latter occasion with them, and attended the grand baile (ball) in the evening, for which extensive preparations were made. The lack of ball-room or public hall formed no impediment, merely permitting the exercise of their ingenuity.
The open patio of the city hall was utilized for this purpose, first excavating about four feet of uneven earth, and refilling with good soil, adding, when leveled, great square stone slabs—placing straw thickly on these, with mianta (brown domestic) stretched tightly over. And the floor of no salon could have been smoother for dancing. Lace curtains hung at each opening, mirrors and paintings alternating around the room, and garlands of the rich dark leaves of the cottonwood, tied with the national colors, filled the spaces between. A cover of manta, held firmly in place by maguey ropes, formed the ceiling of this unique ball-room, and numerous chandeliers illuminated the scene. When the baile opened and the gayly dressed señoritas and caballeros began the intoxicating movements of the danza, exhilarated by the excellent music, it was an enchanted bower.
The Santa Rosalians are a kind and hospitable people, but very fastidious in the observance of their social laws and obligations. On the night of the ball we went at half past eleven, but still the citizens had not arrived. The cotton-clad mozos, however, were going back and forth from the ball-room to the houses. I ascertained that the object of their stepping so cautiously to the front door, and peeping in, was to find out if any of the aristocracy had yet made their appearance. At twelve o'clock the labors of the mozo ceased, and with the rustle of silk and lace beauty and fashion entered. On the faces of all satisfaction was evident that one belle had not arrived before the others.
The Rio Concho and the Rio Florida flank Santa Rosalia on either side, and from them open ditches run through the town, supplying water for domestic purposes. Policemen are stationed at intervals to prevent children from playing in the water, the water-carrier here as elsewhere being an important factor of domestic happiness and comfort. The Rio Concho is so well utilized for irrigating purposes
WATER-CARRIER OF SANTA ROSALIA.
that the haciendas for thirty miles on either side are amply supplied with water. The absence of timber along the streams is noteworthy, the only forest tree in this section being the cotton-wood. This fortunately occurs in abundance, and furnishes fuel.
In towns the size of Santa Rosalia, hotels are not yet considered necessary to the well-being of the inhabitants, the méson supplying their place. Below will be found the "Notice to Travelers," as I saw it in that old adobe town. This and the water-spouts jutting out like giant arms across the street, afforded equal diversion. "NOTICE TO TRAVELERS.
"Persons who wish to lodge in this méson will subject themselves to the following rules:
"1st. The house is opened at 5 o'clock a. m., and closed at 10 p. m. Only in urgent cases will these hours be altered.
"2d. Feed for animals will be supplied at reasonable prices, but outside animals will not be received.
"3d. The prices for rooms are—for single rooms three reals per day, for double rooms four reals (fifty cents) per day. For each room, guests are entitled to two animals; all in excess of two will be charged three and a quarter cents per head per day for each animal. This charge is for standing room only, feed being extra.
"Carriages, wagons, and other vehicles will be charged one real per day, each.
"4th. The owner of this establishment is not responsible for objects lost from the rooms of travelers, or animals, or anything else, unless directly delivered to the care of the manager or left in the house."
The rooms at three reals per day were in front, and those for four, in the rear, near the horses.
The patio of this méson had numerous posts in the ground, which I was assured were placed there for theatrical purposes. In the center of the open square was the only public hall of the town, and at the end, quite near the horses, a stage had been constructed with movable scenery, having its sills lashed to the floor by maguey ropes. On gala nights a canvas is stretched over the poles, as a cover; and with numerous lights, and the customary decorations, a brilliant effect is produced.
With many regrets my two weeks' delightful sojourn at the hospitable
Jimenez is the first station, situated in the midst of a vast plain, and contains but one or two solitary houses. Parral, a fine mining district, is about fifty miles distant, and has already attracted the attention of American enterprise.
Villa Lerdo is the next station; the town proper, however, is located about two miles distant, but conveyances are always there to transport passengers on the arrival of trains, and the railroad company has a fine eating-house there. It is located in the State of Durango, in the "Laguna Country," generally known as the best cotton-producing region, the soil and climate being so favorable that the plants need renewal only once in several years. From thirty to forty thousand bales of cotton are annually shipped.
The capital of the State is Durango, more than one hundred miles away.
After leaving Villa Lerdo, we have more green valleys, more water, and stronger evidences of the fertility of the country. Both the types of people and the face of the country change as we go farther inland. More of the pure Indian blood is visible.
Boundary landmarks are seen on either side of the railway, two or three feet high, built of adobe or stone, and having octagonal-shaped, bright-painted caps. They more resembled grim tombstones, leaving off the colored caps, than the purpose for which they were constructed.
As we speed along the vast table-lands, over the smooth broad-gauge Central, all looks restful in its solitude. But such dreary stretches of country, without apparently an inhabitant! Now and then an Indian, black as charcoal, stands motionless, crook in hand, in the midst of his little flock, gazing at the swiftly advancing and receding train—his big hat tilted back, framing his face—his clothing of manta giving him a ghost-like appearance.
For centuries the table-lands have been the chief highways and avenues of commerce. They are strangely modeled, and extend over a territory perhaps fifty to one hundred miles in width from El Paso 
WENDING THEIR WEARY WAY
to the tierra caliente, near two thousand miles, as smooth as a floor, broken only now and then by a river or arroya or barranca. Mountains on either side rise and tower nearer or more remote as the table-land narrows or widens. The mountains are dome-shaped and suggest a striking analogy between nature's economy and the structural skill displayed by man. Mountains and churches are alike dome-shaped.
There is an absence of large and navigable rivers, inland lakes and other water-courses. But there are many beautiful valleys. After a dreary desert of alkaline sand, parched by scorching winds, round the turn of the road appears a lovely vision of a sweet and peaceful valley, with a picturesque village or city resting in it like a jewel in its setting.
After leaving Fresnillo, a once widely known mining community, now in disuse, we come upon Zacatecas, the highest point and the largest city between El Paso and the capital, having an altitude of about nine thousand feet, and containing nearly one hundred thousand inhabitants. Having crept, as it were, along the smooth table-lands, not suspecting the nearness of this grand old city, its sudden appearance was a revelation to us, with its towering domes and glistening turrets, its lofty chimneys announcing its vast industries of silver mining and coining.
The principal streets run through a deep ravine, following its widenings. Cross streets, lined with domes and spires, and picturesque dwellings, climb the mountain sides. The houses are built of stone, brick, or adobe; all except those of cut stone being frescoed in bright colors which contrast strangely with the substantial character of the buildings. The Cathedral has an elaborately carved facade. The Mint, the Custom-House, and many business houses are of cut stone, porphyry being mostly used. The Alameda has two drives and two promenades, the latter in the center with rows of trees between and stone seats along the outer lines.
This distinctively Mexican city has now been invaded by the American innovations, street railways, telephones, and electric lights. The Hotel Zacatano was formerly a convent, being a portion of the church property confiscated in 1859 by Juarez. It is a beautiful specimen of Moorish architecture about three centuries old, having been begun in 1576, and completed twenty years later. It is built around an open patio, and entered through an arched carriage-way. The church adjoining formerly belonged to the convent, but, with a portion of the building in front, has been purchased by the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions for $24,000. The church has a membership of two hundred and seventy-five, besides a mission school.
Zacatecas is perhaps the greatest mining camp in the world, about fifteen thousand men being now employed. A thousand millions of dollars is said to have been the value of the output here in the last three centuries. Most of the mines are now owned and worked by large companies.
The Spaniards commenced working the mines about 1540; but they had then been operated for an unknown period by the Indians. When the conquerors learned of their incredible richness, they dispatched five thousand Mexican colonists, with a strong military force, to take possession of the region. The Indians were driven to the southwest, but the name of their chief, Zacatecas, was given to both camp and province.
Two miles north, at Oraso, the site of the St. Bernabe Mine, is an old chapel—the Capilla de Bracho—dating back to the earliest days of the Spaniards.
Further to the north is the Veta Grande Mine, opened by Tolsa in 1846, and named the "Alvarado." Great fortunes have been made out of this mine, and it still yields immense quantities of ore, fifteen millions of dollars' worth having been taken from one shaft in about ten months. The Acacio Company, whose members reside in Spain, own two thirds of this immense property, which covers fifty-five square miles. At the beginning of this century, the San Acacio had already produced $140,000,000, and so far from being exhausted, is now producing more richly than ever. 
The great mine of the Mala Noche was operated for centuries, but is not now worked—though the name survives—the Mexican owners not having capital to cope with the water. The La Plata, lying between the Mala Noche and the Veta Grande, is also owned by Mexicans. Its ore now yields $800 to the ton.
The Cantara Lode is an immense ridge, running along the face of La Bufa, a mountain five hundred feet in height, overlooking the town, its crest crowned with a quaint, historic old church. In this and its principal branch, the Quebradilla vein, are situated some of the most productive mines, the workings of which extend under the city in all directions.
The suburban town of Guadalupe, five miles distant from Zacatecas, is reached by street-cars run by gravity. The mules which draw the cars to the city are unhitched, and the return is made, sin mulas ("without mules"), with startling velocity down the steep incline.
My impressions on entering Zacatecas were vivid, and what I saw of this interesting city will remain indelibly impressed on my memory, but on leaving it I found that the bounteous hand of Nature held in reserve a vision of exquisite beauty. The results of the highest human effort often bring disappointment to the beholder, but the works of the Divine Architect never! In the early morning a capricious veil of mist almost obscured the sun, but now and then its genial rays pushed through this curtain, disclosing a towering mountain peak, crowned with a gorgeous rainbow. Instantly upon an opposite height appeared a mellow neutral-tinted bow, bending like a "triumphal arch" over mountain and plain carpeted with tender verdure.
"—Faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man."
The rainbow tints upon the mountains were reflected in the valley, in the characteristic and peculiar dress of the hundreds of busy workers, mostly Indians, far below us assorting ores. Red and plaid serapes, more than rainbow-hued, were tossed carelessly, but with artistic effect, upon the shoulders of the men, while countless women and children with gay skirts, naked feet, blue rebozos, jetty hair either flowing or in plaits, moved about with unstudied grace. Nature, too, contributed her fairest to the scene. As we whirled around the dizzy height, the train, forming loop after loop, as we headed the frightful barrancas, and circled among the clouds, we saw sparkling waters leaping and dashing from high summits; then the gladdening view, when we had gone higher than the clouds, and beheld a sky more blue than Italy ever boasted! Finally, the salient point of every rustic scene, the lavendaras, with their flowing black hair and red petticoats, washing along the mountain streams, filled the landscape with peasant life and homely color. Our spiral windings around this mountain can be compared to nothing less than a revolving panorama, in which both the object and spectator moved. Once seen it is never forgotten.
Thirty miles southwest of Zacatecas, at Quemada, are interesting ruins, supposed to mark one of the resting places of the Aztecs in their march to the valley of Mexico. A citadel is in the center of a walled inclosure containing about six acres, with still an outer wall of unhewn stone, eight feet thick and eighteen feet high. Several pyramids and immense pillars are also within the inclosure.
Aguas Calientes ("Hot Waters") derives its name from the medicinal springs in its vicinity. The waters are extremely efficacious in rheumatism and skin diseases. For centuries people have resorted to them, and still their virtues are undiminished.
There are two sets of bath-houses —the old, in the town, to which the water is conveyed in conduits; the new, a half-mile distant at the springs. Street-cars run out to them through an avenue of cottonwood trees, extending along an acequia (ditch) which carries away the waste waters from the springs.
The common people avail themselves of the open acequia, to freely indulge in the customary luxury of the bath. A fine view was obtained of this interesting pastime, as we halted for dinner at the station. They plunged and leaped wildly in the rushing waters—men pulling women headlong—their hair white with soap, recalling a pet poodle—and vice versa—children screaming, dogs barking—the sides of the ditches closely lined by people of the same class, in full enjoyment of the scene.
Aguas Calientes is distant about seventy-five miles from Zacatecas,
THE NATIONAL PALACE AT AGUAS CALIENTES.
and was founded in 1575 on a grant made by Philip II. of Spain, with a view to rendering the country safe for travelers to and from the mining regions. The grant extended five leagues on all sides from the first chapel erected. This was a small adobe building on the site of the church of San Diego, an ancient edifice with a convent adjoining, which is now converted into a scientific and literary institute. Under the streets it is said that extensive ruins exist, the origin of which is lost in the mists of antiquity, no mention of them being made in the traditions of either Toltec or Aztec. They probably date back to a period before the coming of these races, and may even belong to the civilization which left the famous ruins of Uxmal and Palenque in Yucatan.
The city—six thousand feet above sea level—has a population of forty thousand; streets well paved and swept, and an excellent manufacturing interest in woolens of fine quality.
The State of Aguas Calientes was originally a part of Nueva Galicia, but in 1835 was created into a separate State. It has a delightful climate, is a fine farming country, and has a great variety of delicious fruits, both temperate and tropical.
As we move onward, the picturesque life of the country stands forth in inimitable representation at every station, large or small. Groups of horsemen, with gay blankets, bright silken sashes, and broad hats adorned with silver, curvet around on their high-mettled steeds, unconscious of the host of beggars who solicit alms from the passengers. A little removed are carriages containing dark-eyed, raven-tressed señoritas, with all the accompaniments of wealth and fashion, leaning idly back, and, like the rest of the crowd, waiting to see the cars. Thus "the rich and the poor are met together"—poverty in its most abject form stands side by side with the highest development of Aztec civilization.
At Aguas Calientes the great Central branches off towards San Luis Potosi, ending at Tampico on the Gulf, a distance of about 400 miles. Its western branch, now under construction, will extend from Irapuato to Guadalajara, and on to San Blas on the Pacific coast. Commencing at the extreme northern limit of the republic, and terminating at its capital, its arms stretching from gulf to ocean, this great iron road must inevitably remain the great international highway, and prove a boon to Mexico, developing her richest resources, and inviting the tourist to take advantage of the unrivaled facilities it offers in the comforts and luxuries of modern travel. Its steel rails and iron bridges and every convenience and appliance for safety are unsurpassed.
Not the least among its inducements are the excellent eating-houses on the line. Here the traveler may feel indeed "at home," surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds and dishes of his native land—not omitting the inevitable "Twenty minutes for refreshments!"
THE PUENTE ENCARNACION.
Boston capitalists are to be commended for the inception and execution of this, one of the grandest railway schemes on the continent. With an unstinted expenditure of money they have made a road unsurpassed by any for comfort and convenience, and display an enterprise and energy worthy of the spirit of New England.
And that lawless element which so often finds security and a home in isolated districts, difficult of access, is now, owing to this road, within easy range of military rule. Thus it was that the backbone of revolutionary spirit was broken.
At Encarnacion we cross the longest bridge on the road, a marvel of engineering skill. On our right we catch glimpses of the beautiful little city nestled among the trees whose soft green foliage is bathed in the simultaneous light of falling rain and dazzling sunshine.
At the various stations we partake of all sorts of Mexican dishes from the hands of unwashed and half-nude venders, but the interchange of familiar, idiomatic expressions, and their evident delight at hearing them from the stranger, equalize many differences.
Great plantations of cacti are laden with their thorny fruits, and as these industrious people rapidly peel them, the passengers enjoy their delicious flavor.
Tempting strawberries in pretty baskets are purchased, but, sad to relate, they prove to be mostly cabbage leaves, with which the basket is lined until there is only room for a few dozen berries.
I omitted to mention the Mapirmi desert, through which we pass, some four hundred miles from Chihuahua. It was then covered with grass, several inches in height, and herds of sleek cattle browsed about; but I was told that after the rainy season the cattle withdrew to better watered localities, and the birds, also, flew away, but the grass still stood dry and motionless on the desolate plain.
Lagos, a city of perhaps forty thousand inhabitants, is the seat of extensive manufactures, and especially important as the central station, whence branch lines will extend to the famous mining cities of San Luis Potosi on the east and Guadalajara on the west.
The largest manufacturing city in the republic is Leon. Its population is one hundred thousand, and the principal manufactures are cottons and woolens, hats, boots and shoes, and cutlery.
Silao is beautifully situated in a fertile valley. It has extensive mills, and is the junction of the branch line to Guanajuato, that famous city nestling in the mountains full of patriotic and historic associations. The branch extends from Silao to Marfil, about twelve miles; and three miles further, up a steep and rugged mountain, the 
MONUMENT TO MAXIMILIAN AT QUERETARO
Passing Irapuato, Salamanca, and Celaya, we come to Queretaro—capital of the State of that name—a beautiful and interesting city—familiar to all as the place where Maximilian, Miramon, and Mejia were executed. The place is marked by three crosses.
Along the line of the railway, as elsewhere, many memorial crosses may be seen. Sometimes they mark the scene of deadly combat, and again, point the traveler to the spot where a murder has been committed,
WATER-CARRIER OF QUERETARO.
and ask the prayers of the faithful for the repose of the soul thus violently launched into eternity without the last rites of the Church. The piles of stones about the crosses represent the petitions that have been offered up, and, judging from the heaps we saw, the mute appeal must be seldom disregarded.
San Juan del Rio is reached, and we ascend from its lovely and picturesque valley and along the elevated region to Marquez. We then descend into the beautiful Tula Valley, with its varied scenery and tropical growths. Every village has its history, with traditions older still.
Our reflections are broken and we are warned of the approaching end of the journey by the announcement that we are nearing the great Nochistongo Pass. Originally this was a tunnel, but now it has more the appearance of a vast chasm rent in the earth by a mighty volcanic upheaval. The railway is constructed upon its very border, and often it seems as if the train would leap across this yawning aperture. Two centuries of time, and millions of dollars, were expended upon its construction. Beyond all doubt it was one of the most stupendous hydraulic enterprises ever undertaken by mortal man. Under the Spanish dominion the Aztec system of dikes was done away with, and in 1607, the scheme of draining the city by a tunnel was commenced. The tunnel was twenty-one thousand six hundred and fifty feet long, but it fell in, and consequently the whole valley was inundated. The Spaniards, to prevent the city being drowned out, recommenced the laborious task on the Nochistongo, converting it into an open channel, four miles long. This great trench was completed in 1739, and thousands of Indians perished in the work.
As it now stands, the Nochistongo is the original tunnel with the earth removed from the mountains, making an open channel for the water. It winds through the mountains with a slight incline—a frightful spectacle, three hundred and sixty-two feet in breadth, about one hundred and sixty-four in depth, and extends twelve and a half miles; but, though centuries have elapsed, it is still unfinished.
A few more turns of the road, a shrill whistle, a general movement on the part of the passengers, and we come to a halt in the handsome depot of the Mexican Central. Carriages are drawn up in line, their swarthy Jehus filling the air with their peculiar idioms. In one of them we were borne along through grand old historic streets to the Hotel San Carlos.
Once inside its massive doors the visitor finds himself initiated into still stranger "costumbres." He is registered by the administrador (manager), and is then consigned to the camarista (a male chamber-maid), and together they toil up one flight of stairs to where the master of keys and letter-boxes—a pure Indian—gracefully performs his part of the business. Glance downward over your shoulder and 
THE GREAT NOCHISTONGO PASS.
We found ourselves at last upon the third corridor, No. 54, in a grand old room with a fine view from the front window of the bustling Calle del Coliseo below, while through the door opening upon the inner galleries an enchanting prospect is afforded of a court filled with gorgeous flowers and tropical plants flooded with silvery sunshine.
The camarista manifested his pleasure in serving me and in due form of courtesy introduced himself as Pomposo Vazques, "Elscriado de V." ("Your obedient servant "). On entering the room, he directed attention to the placard of printed rules and to the bell—insisting that he should be called at any time. In the evening a gentle tap at the door, to which I responded, showed me the full-length figure of Pomposo, in all his dignity. He wished to know if I needed anything, on which I asked for matches. With arms pinioned to his sides, hands thrown upward above his shoulders, digits outspread, with eyes serious, mouth drawn to one side and head shaking ominously, he informed me: "En este hotel siempre faltan cerillos y jabon!" ("In this hotel we never furnish matches and soap"). After this speech he moved backward step by step, like a grand chamberlain retiring from the presence of royalty, until his grotesque figure reached the door-way and disappeared in the corridor.
About nine o'clock I heard an awful rumbling and shaking of the building, as if the whole structure was toppling over. No solution came that night, but next morning when Pomposo came on his rounds, I ascertained that it was the mozo rolling his strangely constructed bed to the front door, where, snugly ensconced, he could, at a moment's notice, admit a lodger or ward off an intruder.
"Who is Porfirio? and what is the matter?" I asked. Completely overcome, he sat down, and, not comprehending my lack of understanding, continued breathlessly: "In the grand dining-room down stairs, Porfirio has sixteen friends; they are eating; hush! Do you not hear the music?" I still asked to be enlightened as to the august Porfirio, whose name had cast a spell on Pomposo.
"Do you not know General Porfirio Diaz, our President?" And without waiting for an answer, added, "Don't go down till later, por Dios Santo!"
THIS HOTEL."