a great migratory movement has taken place in our family—we are now in the warm, sunny country called mexico.
aunt gwendolin was the cause of it. she said she was tired of going to florida, that it was so common to go there now, everybody was going there, that the latest thing was to winter in mexico, and she thought we all ought to follow suit. she talked and argued so much about it that she persuaded grandmother and uncle theodore to her way of thinking, and after travelling hundreds of miles in pullman and sleeper cars, here we are in this land of cactus fences, tortillas, great snakes, and parrots; this land where roses and strawberries grow all the year round; where in some parts are luscious tropical fruits, flowers, and palms.
mrs. delancy has come along with us, and professor ballington says he may join our party later. there are many americans around us in the various towns—it is so fashionable at present to winter in mexico.
uncle theodore takes me out for long walks with him in this land of perpetual summer, and we see many strange and interesting sights. the rich are so very rich, and the poor are so very poor. there is one drawback—we had to leave behind us our automobile. of course we can hire one here, but we can not have our own lovely chauffeur, and grandmother says she is afraid to trust any of those mexicans. i suppose our poor chauffeur is pegging away hard over his medical lore now, while i am lounging around doing nothing. the granddaughter of a millionairess, with money to get anything i want, and yet i am beginning to think there is nothing worth getting. it is lovely to be poor like the chauffeur and have to work hard for something. my life is so small and worthless that i am oppressed with it.
one of the sights that interest us the most when we are out in the country are the cactus hedges. there are great palisades of the organ-cactus lining the railways, and there are ragged, loose-jointed varieties used for corralling cattle. great plantations of a species of cactus called maguey with stiff, prickly leaves a dull, bluish-green, are seen in abundance. from this plant the mexicans get not only thread, pins, and needles, but pulque, the juice or sap of the plant, which they ferment and make into a national beverage. pulque is used by the mexicans as whisky is used by americans, and opium by chinamen.
great fields of maize are cultivated, of which there are two or three crops a year. the food of the people is tortillas, made out of this maize mashed into a paste and baked into flat cakes.
i ate those tortillas when i first came, as a curiosity, a native production, but i am not going to eat any more. while uncle theodore and i were watching a woman making them, great drops of perspiration fell from her brow into the paste. she pounded away, poor tired creature, and paid no heed to the drops. poor women of mexico, they have to work so hard, preparing the paste, and making those little cakes to be eaten hot at every meal! but no more tortillas for me.
we visited the old churches which are beautifully decorated with veined marble and alabaster. precious stones seem to grow in this remarkable land.
"keep your eyes open, pearl," said my uncle, "and you may pick up some opals, or amethysts. they grow in this country, and i have heard they can be had for the picking."
