It was in the year 1521 that Cortez conquered Mexico, and for three hundred years it was ruled by Spain; at the end of that time it became again free. The Mexicans of to-day are partly Indians and partly Spanish in race, but there are some who remember with pride that they are the descendants of the ancient Aztecs, and they point to the ruins of the great temples, which may still be seen in the new Capital, as an instance of the wealth and power of their nation when the Aztecs ruled from ocean to gulf, and when from mountain peak to lowest valley every heart beat with pride in thinking of the glory of the kingdom which Montezuma called his own. CHAPTER XII. PIZARRO AND THE CONQUEST OF PERU. Francisco Pizarro was a little Spanish boy who was very poor and very miserable. Living in a beautiful valley where the climate was agreeable, and where one might gather grapes and chestnuts and oranges at will, it might have been quite possible for him to be poor and happy, too, but there were many things about Francisco's lot that were harder to bear than poverty. Many other children dwelt in this pleasant valley, some of them as poor and wretched and ragged as Francisco, and others who were rich and well clothed and happy. Not far from the little hut that was Francisco's home was a stately castle, where a great duke lived, and the little boy would often go and stand by the stone wall that enclosed the grounds, and wonder how it would seem to live in that splendid mansion, and be allowed to walk in its beautiful parks. Once in a while, when the gates were opened to let in a crowd of gaily-dressed visitors, or when the duke, at the head of a laughing party, went forth on a merry hunting expedition, he would catch a glimpse of the velvet lawns and shady trees and gorgeous flowers, and could see children dressed in dainty garments, and sometimes wearing beautiful jewels, playing on the grass or swinging under the trees. And Francisco would look and look with eyes big with wonder till the gay party had passed and the gates swung back in his face, and he was left out there in the dusty road alone. And then he would turn and watch the hunting party until the brilliant scene faded quite away in the distance, and he was once more left alone. It always seemed to him that no matter how gay or happy this bit of the world might seem, it always ended in his being left outside of that gray stone wall, alone and hungry and ragged, and that in fact these glimpses of another, happier life were only after all just like his dreams, which were sure to fade away when morning came. He could not help sighing sometimes and wishing that the dream would go on for him just as it did for the other children inside the stone wall. Once it did go on just a moment or two, for one day as he stood dejectedly by the gates, they opened, and a beautiful child came out who spoke to him kindly. He was dressed in a suit of velvet, and his long hair fell in