ON THE TRAIL OF THE CAVALIERS 



38i 



'-(to. 'hi-*"" - "', '/.: j. 



illusion is due to the head dress, which 

 is in the form of a priest's alb or upper 

 garment of snowy white lace. Stiffly 

 starched and standing out in all direc- 

 tions, it waves gently as they pass to 

 ai.d fro, their bare feet making no 

 sound upon the hard earth. If they 

 have a burden, it makes no difference, 

 except that it displays to greater ad- 

 vantage their shapely brown arms and 

 waists ; for they manage to carry huge 

 water pitchers without disordering in 

 the least their fairy-like headgear. 



There is almost no twilight in' Mex- 

 ico. You watch the sun, a blazing orb, 

 descending with growing swiftness and 

 wreathed in a veil of fire, towards the 

 horizon. Around, the air is amber- 

 tinted, glowing. Suddenly it begins to 

 drop behind the distant mountains, and 



Human butterflies with great 

 vhite wings 



the shadows advance across the plain, 

 swallowing up the landscape in mellow 

 gloom. The shadow draws near and 

 nearer — envelopes the town. Behind 

 you the sky is still lit up with the rosy 

 beams. A line of shadow creeps swiftly 

 up the rugged sides of old Popocate- 

 petl, obscuring completely the base of 

 the mountain as it advances. Up, up 

 the snow-capped crest, deepening in 

 tint, until at last it hangs like a great 

 opal against the darkening sky. A mo- 

 ment it remains so, glowing and quiver- 

 ing as if on fire — grows smaller, and is 

 gone. Night has come ! 



Through the dusky silence you seek 

 your hotel, passing on the roadside si- 

 lent figures, fagot-laden. "Adios, 

 Senor." Their soft-voiced greeting 

 falls upon your ear like a benediction. 



