ful pictures of its outbreak and of the heroism with which the priests (especially the Jesuits,) devoted themselves to the ill and dying; and the father Francisco Xavier Alegre dwells with pleasure on the self-sacrifice with which his holy brethren met the fell monster and ministered to the wants of the sufferers.
It was entirely too warm, even in this middle of November, to stir out of the house with satisfaction. We therefore dressed ourselves in summer apparel, and took an excellent dinner very quietly, resolved not to expose our persons unnecessarily, as we understood there had been recent cases of vomito. A number of gentlemen called to see us, and I found the Governor and other officers exceedingly anxious to afford us all the protection in their power on the road to Mexico. They say that the country has been lately scoured by troops of dragoons, but that it is still infested with robbers; and, although we are to have a military escort, our friends appear to intimate that Colt's revolving pistols, double-barrelled guns, and a stock of resolution and coolness, will be our best safeguards. We have, therefore, taken the stage which will depart four days hence; and as we are amply prepared with arms and ammunition, and a number of determined passengers, I trust we shall reach the capital without having our noses stamped in the ground after the most approved fashion of the Ladrones.
At sunset, a countryman was so good as to call for us to walk with him to the Alameda, We sallied from the south gate, and took our way into a desolate and melancholy country. On every side were marks of solitude and misery. The ruins of houses and churches, filled with weeds and creepers; neglected fields, overgrown with aloes and made still more sad by the long pensile branches of the solitary palm; and, over all lay the dark shadows of evening, as the last rays of the sun fell aslant on the stagnant pools. A sergeant was drilling a few recruits to the tap of the drum. The music seemed to be a dead march, and the step of the soldiers was slow and solemn. Nothing could be more dreary—more heart-sickening. We loitered on, like the rest of folks, but there was no liveliness—no spirit. The people were not cheerful and joyous as when abroad with us for an evening's promenade, but strolled along in silent pairs, as if oppressed by the sadness of the melancholy wastes on the one side, and the cold, dreary, illimitable sea on the other.
The appropriate termination of this walk through the ruined Alameda, was the burying-ground. As we reached it, a funeral had just entered, and in the chapel they were saying some annual service for the dead! It may be wrong to indulge in such emotions, but here there really seems to be an utter hopelessness in death. We love to think, that when it falls
