To return to the stone knives; the Mexicans may very well have invented the art themselves, as they did so many others; or they may have received it from the Old World. The things themselves prove nothing either way. The real proof of their having, at some early period, communicated with inhabitants of Europe or Asia rests upon the traditions current among them, which are recorded by the early historians, and confirmed by the Aztec picture-writings; and upon several extraordinary coincidences in the signs used by them in reckoning astronomical cycles. Further on I shall allude to these traditions. On the whole, the most probable view of the origin of the Mexican tribes seems to be the one ordinarily held, that they really came from the Old World, bringing with them several legends, evidently the same as the histories recorded in the book of Genesis. This must have been, however, at a time, when they were quite a barbarous, nomadic tribe; and we must regard their civilization as of independent and far later growth. We rode back through the woods to Guajalote, where the Mexican cook had made us a feast after the manner of the country, and from her experience of foreigners had learnt to temper the chile to our susceptible throats. Decidedly the Mexicans are not without ideas in the matter of cookery. We stayed talking with the hospitable Don Alejandro and his sister till it was all but dark, and then rode back to the Real, admiring the fire-flies that were darting about by thousands, and listening to our companion’s stories, which turned on robberies and murders—-as stories are apt to do in wild places after dark. But, save an escape from being robbed some twenty years back, and the history of an Indian who was murdered just here by some of his own people, for a few shillings he was taking home, our friend had not much reason to give for the two huge horse-pistols he carried, ready for action. His story of the death of a German engineer in these parts is worth recording here. He was riding home one dark night, with a companion; and, trusting to his knowledge of the country, tried a short cut through the woods, among the old open mines near the Regla road. They had quite passed all the dangerous places, he thought, so he gave his horse the spur, and plunged sheer down a shaft, hundreds of feet deep. His friend pulled up in time, and got home safely. We had one more day among the mines, and then went back to Pachuca, and next day to Mexico in the Diligence. Everywhere the same hospitality and good-natured interest in us and our doings, often shown by people with whom we had hardly the slightest acquaintance. Travelling here is very different from what it is in a country on which the shadow of Murray’s Handbook has fallen.