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 end of the journey by the announcement that we are nearing the great Nochistongo Pass. Originally this was a tunnel, but now it has more the appearance of a vast chasm rent in the earth by a mighty volcanic upheaval. The railway is constructed upon its very border, and often it seems as if the train would leap across this yawning aperture. Two centuries of time, and millions of dollars, were expended upon its construction. Beyond all doubt it was one of the most stupendous hydraulic enterprises ever undertaken by mortal man. Under the Spanish dominion the Aztec system of dikes was done away with, and in 1607, the scheme of draining the city by a tunnel was commenced. The tunnel was twenty-one thousand six hundred and fifty feet long, but it fell in, and consequently the whole valley was inundated. The Spaniards, to prevent the city being drowned out, recommenced the laborious task on the Nochistongo, converting it into an open channel, four miles long. This great trench was completed in 1739, and thousands of Indians perished in the work.

As it now stands, the Nochistongo is the original tunnel with the earth removed from the mountains, making an open channel for the water. It winds through the mountains with a slight incline—a frightful spectacle, three hundred and sixty-two feet in breadth, about one hundred and sixty-four in depth, and extends twelve and a half miles; but, though centuries have elapsed, it is still unfinished.

A few more turns of the road, a shrill whistle, a general movement on the part of the passengers, and we come to a halt in the handsome depot of the Mexican Central. Carriages are drawn up in line, their swarthy Jehus filling the air with their peculiar idioms. In one of them we were borne along through grand old historic streets to the Hotel San Carlos.

Once inside its massive doors the visitor finds himself initiated into still stranger "costumbres." He is registered by the administrador (manager), and is then consigned to the camarista (a male chamber-maid), and together they toil up one flight of stairs to where the master of keys and letter-boxes—a pure Indian—gracefully performs his part of the business. Glance downward over your shoulder and