Show EL PASO DEL NORTE Situated on the banks washed by the- the muddy waters of the Rio Grande is the the- ancient town of El EI Paso Del Norte one one- 1 of those quaint Mexican settlements which still stand as a memento of the past a J lasting monument of the labors of the Jesuit fathers On crossing the worn weather-worn bridge over the turbulent river we first find ourselves ourselves ourselves our our- selves among a number of Custom houses simple primitive structures built evidently evidently evidently evi evi- dently with a view to economy Lounging Lounging Lounging Loung Loung- ing ing- about are the much-avoided much CustomHouse Custom Custom- CustomHouse CustomHouse House officials ever on the alert lest some smuggler shall elude their eagle eyes l As he passes along a stranger is forc I. I bly impressed with the great number of dogs Dogs to the right of us dogs to the left One might mistake this for a canine City of Refuge A few rods from the bridge the road branches We take the one to the left and are soon enveloped in the richness of tropical beauty The road is very narrow and winding and the tall cotton cottonwood wood trees on each side meet overhead head forming a fairy bower with now and then a stray sunbeam lighting up the shadows be be- neath We Weare are shut in the more by low adobe walls ov over r which roses clamber in wildest profusion Behind these gay earthworks and surrounded by corn fields f and watermelon pat hes are old crumbling adobe houses which are the homes of the thel l great middle class of Mexicans Here in L two or three rooms with good mother r r earth for a foot stool the Mexican spends t his life content without the luxuries which seem indispensable to a white man Often the dusky natives are seen on the southern side of these houses basking in the sun sun- shine Occasionally a better dwelling with well-kept well gardens the home of those with a larger supply of this worlds world's goods lends variety to the scene By a sudden turn in the road we find ourselves on Main Street at the head of which stands the the pride of the town the Plaza With a fountain of sparkling water playing in the center and rustic seats scattered about amid foliage foliage foliage foli foli- age it forms one of the favorite resorts for pleasure parties or festivals The scene of many a courtship or quarrel which the moon alone could reveal On a little knoll over-looking over the town stands a large cathedral whose walls are blackened with the dust of three centuries 1 or more This massive building gives us usan an insight into the civilization of the early Spaniards It is constructed of adobe with a ceiling of logs carved in strange designs with some rude knife A dirt floor floer is beneath our feet and we wonder that the worshipers do not provide themselves themselves themselves them them- selves with seats In the weather-beaten weather belfry hang the bells and every evening as the twilight fades into darkness the vesper chimes fill the air with their sweet melody Surmounting the flat roof a wall pierced with port-holes port seems to have been designed as a refuge for people fleeing fleeing fleeing flee flee- ing from a savage foe From this quaint relic of past ages we turn homeward but first pause to cast one glance over the wild picturesque beauty spread out before us From this eminence eminence eminence emin emin- ence we can note the winding streets running running running run run- ning hither and thither with no system but seeming to go as they will Here and there we catch a gl glimpse of the large irrigating ditch or Acequia as its waters course through the labyrinth of trees or flood the cornfields A pack donkey hoves in insight sight lazily moving along under a load of roots unmindful of the frequent or more frequent blows of the driver If we could but blot out the present we might imagine ourselves carried back a thousand years and looking over some town in Palestine with its flat roofed houses and zig-zag zig streets It is a quaint town but the march of improvements will soon change these worn time-worn marks land-marks of a primitive race and they will be but a memory of the dim past |