They have brought us at last, I will not say dinner—but something to eat.
20th.—This morning, the firing of squibs, the beating of drums, the shouting and confusion on the streets, announced that the ragamuffin population of Toluca had turned out; and going to the balcony, I very nearly received the salutation of
"A sky-Rocket in my eye."
Orders have been given out by the alcalde, that copper shall be received in payment by the merchants, some of whom have declared they will only receive silver. A large mob has collected before the alcalde's door, with shouts of "Viva la plata! Muerta al cobre!" (Long live silver! Death to copper!) —apostrophizing these useful metals, as if they were two generals.
The merchants have issued a declaration, that during three days only, they will sell their goods for copper (of course at an immense advantage to themselves). The Indians and the poorer classes are now rushing to the shops, and buying goods, receiving in return for their copper about half its value. If Santa Anna keeps his word, the patriotism of the merchants will be rewarded.
C—-n has just had a visit from one of the merchants, who wishes his conduct to be represented in a proper light in Mexico.
MEXICO, 22nd.
With much joy we stepped into the diligence early yesterday morning, accompanied by the commandant of Toluca, and retraced our road to Mexico; for though Toluca is a fine city, with clean, airy houses, wide, well-paved streets, and picturesque in its situation, there is something sad and deserted in its appearance, an air of stagnation that weighs upon the spirits; and the specimens we have seen of its lower orders are not inviting. We had rather an agreeable journey, as the day was cool, and we had the diligence to ourselves. We breakfasted again at Cuajimalpa, took leave of the interesting itzcuin tepotzotli, still hanging from its hook—and again ascended the eminence from which Mexico suddenly bursts upon the view, and after a short absence, with all the charms of novelty. Before we arrived at Tacubaya, we were met by a carriage containing Señor A—— and his lady, who insisted on our leaving the diligence; and carried us off to their own house, where we now are. On the second of January we expect to take our final departure from the "great city of the lake."
December 28th.—Another old year about to chime in! Another Christmas past away! But during these last few days it has been all in vain to attempt finishing my letter, between making arrangements for our journey, receiving and returning visits, going to the opera, and seeing and revisiting all that we had left unseen or wished to see again before leaving this. People seem determined that we shall regret them, and load us with kindness and attentions, the more flattering, that now at least they are entirely personal, and cannot proceed from any interested motive. We have reason to think them both steady and sincere in their friendship.
General Moran has died, universally regretted. He has been embalmed according to the system of Ganal, and his funeral was performed with extraordinary magnificence, the troops out, the foreign Ministers and the cabinet following on foot, the former in full uniform, and a great train of carriages reaching along the whole Calle San Francisco, from the church to the square. The body, dressed in a general's uniform, was carried upon a splendid bier, and was so perfectly embalmed, that he seemed not dead, nor even asleep, but lying in an attitude of repose. The expense of this operation will probably prevent its ever becoming very common; and certainly there are but few cases where it can be advisable to adopt it. An embalmed dynasty might be a curious sight. To trace the features of a royal line, from Charlemagne to Charles X.—from Alfred to William IV., would be a strange study. Mary of Scotland and Elizabeth, lying in the repose of death, yet looking as they lived and hated centuries back, might be a curious piece of antiquity. A Hernan Cortes—a Washington—a Columbus —a Napoleon; men, whose memory for good or for evil, will survive time and change—it would be a strange and wondrous thing, if we could look on their features as they were in life. But it is to be trusted that this method of successfully wrestling with the earth for what it claims as its due, will not generally prevail; or, at the end of a few centuries, the embalmed population would scarce leave room for their living and breathing descendants: nor is it an agreeable idea that one might, in a lapse of ages, grace the study of an antiquary, or be preserved amongst the curiosities of a museum. I would stuff birds and beasts, and preserve them in cabinets, but not the remains of immortal man. Dust unto dust; and the eye of faith turned from the perishing remains to the spirit which has gone to the God who gave it.