There are few towns in central Mexico, not on a railroad, to be compared with Zamora.  It is large, clean, well built, and presents an air of unusual comfort.  The main plaza is large, and finely planted with palms, orange-trees, roses and flowering shrubs.  The orange-trees were in full bloom and the air was heavy with their odor.  The town is electric-lighted and has a good system of waterworks.  The great church, with two slender towers, fills up the whole of one side of the plaza, while the other three are occupied with business houses.  The amount of life in the town at night surprised us.  Even after ten o’clock, many were on the streets, and the dulce stands, cafe tables and loto hall were doing a large business.  Few towns in Mexico are so completely under priestly influence, but few again appear as prosperous, progressive, and well-behaved.  Two distinct types of houses predominate, the older and the newer.  The old style house is such as is characteristic of many other Tarascan towns, but is here more picturesquely developed than in most places.  The low-sloped, heavily-tiled roof projects far over the street and is supported below by projecting timbers, which are trimmed at the end to give a pleasing finish.  So far do these roofs project over the sidewalk that the water is thrown into the middle of the street and the footpath below is well sheltered.  The new style of house, which is required by the recent laws, has an almost flat roof which ends squarely at the sidewalk, and from which long tin pipes project to throw the water into the streets.  Here, as so frequently, the old fashion is at once more comfortable and more artistic.

We spent the morning in efforts to secure horses, but finally secured a man, Don Nabor, who agreed to accompany us with five animals.  The party consisted of myself, my interpreter, my plaster-worker, and Don Nabor.  Each of us was mounted, and a fifth horse carried the plaster and other luggage.  Leaving at noon, we took the long road past Jacona, a little town famous for its fruit.  Having passed there, after a long journey, we looked down from the height almost directly upon the place whence we had started.  The scene was of unusual beauty—­the wide-spreading, flat valley, with its fields of wheat and clustered trees, presented a mass of rich green coloring, in the midst of which stood the pretty city.  After a long climb, we descended into a valley in which lies Tangancicuaro, a large town with a plaza full of fine, great trees, where we ate at a quaint little meson.  From here we pushed on to Chilchota, the head town of the Once Pueblos.  From the crest, just above the town, we looked down upon a level valley, green with new wheat.  Entering the town a little after five, we rode up to the meson of San Francisco, near the little plaza.  It was with difficulty that we secured a room containing a single bed, with mattress, and two mats.  There