In general, Mr. Wilson contents himself with the barest, though broadest, denial of the statements of his authorities, or with silently substituting his own version of the facts in place of theirs. But he sometimes condescends to argue the point. His logic is ingenious, but singularly monotonous. His arguments are all drawn from one source, namely, his own personal experience. The Tlascalan wall, described by Cortés and Diaz, can never have been in existence, for Mr. Wilson has been on the very spot and found no remains of a wall. Other travellers, it may be remarked, have been more fortunate. Cortés states, that, in a march across the mountains, some of his Indian allies perished of thirst. This Mr. Wilson pronounces "impossible," because he himself travelled over the same route, and did _not_ perish of thirst, as neither did his horse, though the "sufferings of both," from that or some other cause, were great. One of the most remarkable acts in the career of Cortés was his voluntary destruction of the vessels which had brought his little army to the Mexican coast, in order, as he avers, that his men might stand committed to follow the fortunes of their leader, whatever might be the dangers of the enterprise. "This event," says Mr. Wilson, "has been the subject of eloquent eulogies for centuries. Among these Robertson is of course pre-eminent." We are here left in doubt whether Robertson is to be regarded as a preëminent century or a pre-eminent eulogy. However this may be, our author denies that the stranding of the vessels was the voluntary act of the Spanish general. He is confident that they were cast away in a storm. His "most potent" reason is, that he himself has "witnessed, not only hereabout, but elsewhere, upon this tideless shore, wrecks by the grounding of vessels at anchor." This he calls "submitting the narrative to the ordeal of proof."