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 turned out its
mixed population en masse the moment the shouts went up that the train
was in sight. There is nothing there to-day comparable to the anxious
looks of the masses as they watched the heavily freighted wagons rolling
into the town, the teamsters dust-begrimed, and the mules making the
place hideous with their discordant braying as they knew that their long
journey was ended and rest awaited them. The importing merchants were
obliged to turn over to the custom house officials five hundred dollars
for every wagon-load, great or small; and no matter what the intrinsic
value of the goods might be, salt or silk, velvets or sugar, it was all
the same. The nefarious duty had to be paid before a penny's worth could
be transferred to their counters. Of course, with the end of Mexican
rule and the acquisition of the Province by the United States, all
op