The next thing that you notice is that every block on the same street has a different name, and when you start out on foot to make a visit you become bewildered at once, and have to call a carriage. Take the chief street, for example, which begins at the Grand Plaza, where the Palace stands, and runs to the statue of Charles IV. of Spain. Each of the seventeen blocks has a name of its own, and the names that are used are quite as striking as this perplexing custom. Here is a list of some of the principal blocks or streets translated into English: “Crown of Thorns Street,” “Fifth of May Street,” “Holy Ghost Street,” “Blood of Christ Street,” “Body of Christ Street,” “Mother of Sorrows Street,” “Street of the Sacred Heart,” “The Heart of Jesus Street,” “Street of the Love of God,” “Jesus Street,” and “John the Baptist Street.” Nearly every saint in the calendar has a street named after him or her, and nine-tenths of the city has the religion of the people thus illustrated. Another thing that surprises you greatly is that nearly every man you meet makes you a present of a residence. He grasps your hand with ardent cordiality when he leaves you, and says, “My house is yours; it stands numero tres--Calle,” and so on, “and is at your service.” The next man tells you that your house is such and such a number, and he shall be angry if you do not occupy it. As neither of them has enjoyed the honor of your acquaintance for more than five minutes, and both are only casually introduced, this excessive generosity is quite embarrassing. An English lord told me he met fourteen men at the Jockey Club one evening, and was presented with thirteen houses. The other man lived in Cuba. But it is only the Mexican way of saying, “I’m pleased to meet you.” It often leads to comical adventures, however, for the gentleman who tenders such profuse hospitality seldom remembers you the next morning. People have accepted these ardent invitations and been met with a cold welcome. Another amusing and puzzling peculiarity is that everybody lives over a shop. Even the millionaires rent out the first floor of their residences for purposes of business, and live in the third story. The handsomest house in all Mexico has a railway ticket-office on one side of the entrance and a cigar shop on the other. Everybody smokes: women as well as men. They smoke in the street-cars, in the shops, at the opera, everywhere. I have often seen a man upon his knees in a chapel muttering his prayers with a lighted cigar in his hand.