VERA CRUZ. 5 
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 sum- 
mer 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 coun- 
try has been lately scoured by troops of dragoons, but that it is still in- 
fested 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 ot 
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 
x,o be an utter hopelesAiess in death. We love to think, that when it falls 
