268 MEXICO 
the hammer than the valuation, the dijference is given to their original 
owners. 
From the foundation of this admirable Institute — which has been the 
means of preventing so much disgrace and misery during the revolution, 
ary difficulties of the Capital — 2,232,611 persons had received succor 
up to the beginning of 1836. During the same period it had distributed 
$31,674,702, besides giving $134,746 in alms. 
In the year 1837, it aided 29,629 persons by the distribution of $477, 
772, and gave $1,089 for masses to be said daily by three chaplains, whoy 
received a dollar for each of their services. 
You may form an idea of the number and variety of persons who 
derive assistance from the Monte Pio, by a walk through its extensive 
apartments. You will there find every species of garment, from the 
tattered reboso of the lepera to the lace mantilla of the noble dame ; 
every species of dress, from the blanket of the beggar, to the military 
cloak and jewelled sword of the impoverished officer; and, as to jewels, 
Aladdin would have had nothing to wish among the blazing caskets of 
diamonds for which the women of Mexico are proverbial. 
MINERIA. 
The MiNERiA — or School of Mines — is one of the most splendid edifices 
in America. It was planned and built by Tolsa — the sculptor of the 
statue of Charles IV. — and is an immense pile of stone, with courts, 
stairways, saloons, and proportions that would adoi'n the most sumptu- 
ous palaces of Europe. But this is all. The apparatus is miserable; the 
collection of minerals utterly insignificant ; the pupils few ; and, among 
the wastes and solitude of the pile, wanders the renowned Del Rio — one 
of the most learned naturalists of this hemisphere — ejaculating his sor- 
rows over the departed glory of his favorite schools. 
An edifice used for the manufacture of tobacco, situated at the north- 
western corner of the city, and erected by the old Spanish government, 
has been converted into a citadel. I never visited it, and can give no 
account of its interior. 
ACCORDADA, OR PUBLIC PRISON. 
Passing westward, toward the Paseo Nuevo from the Alameda, you 
cross the square in front of the Acordada, the common prison of the 
Capital. In the front of one of its wings a low-barred window is constantly 
open, and within, on an inclined plane, are laid the dead bodies found daily 
within the limits of the city. It is almost impossible to take your morning 
walk to the adjoining fields, without seeing one, and frequently two corpses, 
stretched bleeding on the stones. These are the victims of some sudden 
