a century ago, it now presents all the vigour, intelligence, and
bustling progressiveness of the average American city of to-day,
yet still smacks of that ancient Spanish regime, which gives it
a charm that only its blended European and Indian civilization
could make possible after its amalgamation with the United States.

The tourist will no longer find a drowsy old town, and the Plaza
is no longer unfenced and uncared for. A beautiful park of trees
is surrounded by low palings, and inside the shady enclosure,
under a group of large cottonwoods, is a cenotaph erected to the
memory of the Territory's gallant soldiers who fell in the shock of
battle to save New Mexico to the Union in 1862, and conspicuous among
the names carved on the enduring native rock is that of Kit Carson--
prince of frontiersmen, and one of Nature's noblemen.

Around the Plaza one sees the American style of architecture and
hears the hum of American civilization; but beyond, and outside
this pretty park, the streets are narrow, crooked, and have an
ancient appearance. There the old Santa Fe confronts the stranger;
odd, foreign-looking, and flavoured with all the peculiarities which
marked the era of Mexican rule. And now, where once was heard the
excited shouts of the idle crowd, of "Los Americanos!" "Los Carros!"
"La entrada de la Caravana!" as the great freight wagons rolled into
the streets of the old town from the Missouri, over the Santa Fe Trail,
the shrill whistle of the locomotive from its trail of steel awakens
the echoes of the mighty hills.

As may be imagined, great excitement always prevailed whenever a
caravan of goods arrived in Santa Fe. Particularly was this the case
among the feminine portion of the community. The quaint old town