BY RAIL TO NORTHERN MEXICO.
thousand acres. To the top the only access is by a narrow, zigzag path, which only a man, or a donkey, can ascend. And if a man is very much of a donkey, he cannot get up at all. Here, strange to say, is a community of poor people, with a church and a school, and the soil is fertile, and produces great crops of corn for its owner, Señor Milmo, the rich banker of Monterey. Señor Milmo, by the way, is a living witness to the fact that fortunes have been made by foreigners in Mexico; for he, though Irish by birth, married the daughter of a rich hacendado, and so acquired his money and his mesa. Richly has he been repaid for whatever sacrifice he may have made in leaving the stately halls of the Emerald Isle,—with such others of his countrymen as occasionally condescend to honor America with their presence,—as not only has he gained to himself rich store of gold and pesos, lands and cattle, but even his name has undergone a transformation. For whereas in his native land he was known only as plain Pat Mullins, he now rolls under his tongue as a sweet morsel the sonorous sobriquet of Señor Don Patricio Milmo!
Now, why does not Mexico entice thither more of the sons of Erin? What have we of the United States to offer in lieu of such distinction as this? Nothing, alas! We can, indeed, bestow upon them the paltry honors and emoluments of office; but what avails this to the Celt, whose noble nature spurns all lucre as dross? Let our rulers look to this. Let them at once enact that every immigrant be addressed as a "Don"; else New York may lose many influential citizens, and Castle Garden become a howling wilderness!
At the station of Palo Blanco we are in the midst of a region of upland, and many small towns are passed on the mesquite-covered plains, the principal of which are Salado, Lampazos, and Villaldama; but they are not on the railroad, but nestle far away at the foot of a hill, or in a plain where a darker green indicates cultivation and gardens. Mines reputed wealthy in galena and silver—or in traditions of them—give a certain importance to some towns, and Bustamente, sixty miles from Monterey, is celebrated for the products of its looms. There
