shop? Waiting for my love, until Tuesday my life. A dove in flying, hurt her little wing. If you have your dove, I have my little dove too. A dove in flying, all her feathers fell off. Women pay badly; not all, but some of them. Little dove of the barracks, you will tell the drummers, when they beat the retreat, to strike up the march of my loves. Little dove, what are you doing there, leaning against that wall? Waiting for my dove, till he brings me something to eat." At the end of each verse, the chorus of "Palomita, palomo, palomo."
Yet, monotonous as it is, the air is so pretty, the women sang so softly and sleepily, the music sounded so soothingly as we glided along the water, that I felt in a pleasant half-dreamy state of perfect contentment, and was sorry when arriving at the landing place, we had to return to a carriage and civilized life, with nothing but the garlands of flowers to remind us of the Chinampas.
Unfortunately, these people generally end by too frequent applications to the jarro of pulque, or what is worse, to the pure spirit known by the name of chinguirite; the consequence of which is, that from music and dancing, and rose-becrowning, they proceed to quarrelling and jealousy, and drunkenness, which frequently terminates in their fighting, stabbing each other, or throwing each other into the canal. "The end crowns the work."
Noble as this present city of Mexico is, one cannot help thinking how much more picturesque the ancient Tenochtitlan was, and how much more fertile its valley must have been, on account of the great
