rest in the carved tombs around you; and the master-pieces of the greatest artists realize once more, on their eloquent canvas, the triumphs of saints and martyrs. But not so here. The ritual is Indian, rather than civilized or intellectual. The show is tasteless and barbaric. The altars display a jumble of jewelry, sacred vessels, and utensils of the precious metals mixed up with glass through which is reflected the tints of colored water, and the whole is overlaid with fruits and flowers. It is a mixture of the church and apothecary shop. Instead of the glorious pictures of the old masters, you have innumerable bad figures, badly drawn and worse colored, set in frames, the gilding and carving of which form the greatest attraction; and in place of the airs of Mozart and Haydn, you have the music of the last Opera, and the favorite morceaux of Robert le Diable.
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When the carriages cease to roll to-day, at ten o'clock, the bells are also silenced. Not a clapper is allowed to strike against bell-side until next Saturday. Yet, in order not to be without incessant noise in the streets, they have substituted rattles, and you scarcely meet a youth who has not one of these discordant instruments in his hand. The rattles are usually made of wood and bone, surmounted by the wax-figure of a bird, baby, or even, sometimes, a naked Venus; but for the higher classes they are of richly chased silver with tasteful ornaments, and become the fashionable presents of the season.
The streets are alive with the gay throng, and I visited the churches of San Francisco, La Señora de Loreto, the Cathedral, Santa Clara, and the Profesa. San Francisco and La Profesa divide the fashionable world; but the old Jesuits seem to have carried the day with the ladies.
I took a seat on the benches, placed against the pillars which support the roof of the church, as I found it to be the custom for men to sit, while the aisle of the church is occupied by the kneeling females. When I entered the edifice there were but few at their devotions, but the crowd gradually increased, and in half an hour the building was filled with the gentle hum of a thousand lips in prayer.
Near me knelt a lady, whose dress must have cost thousands in this expensive country. She wore a purple velvet robe embroidered with white silk, white satin shoes, and silk stockings; a mantilla of the richest white blonde lace fell over her head and shoulders, and her ears, neck, and fingers were blazing with diamonds. By her side, and almost touching, crouched an Indian, in rags scarcely sufficient to hide her nakedness, with wild dishevelled hair, bare legs, and a vacant stare from the gorgeous altar to the gorgeous dame! And so, over the whole church, the floor was a checker-board of ladies and léperos—of misery and pride!
