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23
OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR.

mure themselves in celibacy and huts, even in Mexico. So it is not possible to make that a negocio, as they say here; a "biz," as the rougher Yankee of the West puts it.

I go to Cuernervaca because there business lies; but the cave, I fear I must say, through a glimmer as to the possibility of reaching it, allures me on.

The city I seek lies to the south, over the mountains, between Popocatepetl and Ajusco, the third peak of the valley, and occasionally specked with snow. The morning is gray and misty, and if in the States would insure rain. Here it is an anomaly that will perhaps yield a shower, but more probably be burned up by the torrid sun on his way over Iztaccihuatl.

We ride through a long avenue, well lined with trees for several miles, a finer drive out of the city than New York or Brooklyn can boast, yet only one of half a dozen equally delightful and equally unsafe; for cavalry patrol these roads away up to the city's gates to protect the traveler from the robber, the foreigner from the native.

It is fifteen miles before the spurs of the mountains are struck. A charming landscape it is, and a morning of exhilaration, despite the threatening clouds—nay, because of them. What lovely haciendas appear on the roadside, with trees sprinkled over them, brooks running through them, green beds where the sickle is busy cutting down green food for the market, broad plains, green and brown; surely here is paradise before we start for Eden! Yet these splendid properties can be bought for a song. Who wants to found a Christian college near the city? Now is your chance. For thirty to fifty thousand dollars you can buy immense estates with stone buildings, including often the chapel, all ready for occupation.

Mexacalcingo and other "cingoes" lie off to the left in moist meadows and lakes, with trees rising, like the earth itself, being out of the water and in the water, and islands floating, or unsteady to the tread. They float up and down only. Amidst these amphibious luxuries the people dwell in a Venice of perpetual greenness.