of Cortes, and it is now one of the prettiest villages near Mexico. Its church is wonderfully handsome; one of the finest village churches we have yet seen.
One of the prettiest places in the village belongs to an order of monks called the Padres Camilos. It consists of a house and garden, where the monks go by turns to enjoy the country air. Comfortable padres! There is one room looking into the garden, and opening into a walk bordered by rose-bushes, which is such a place for a siesta; cool, retired, fragrant. A hammock with a mattress on it is slung across the room, and here the good padre may lie, with one eye opened to the roses, and the other closed in inward meditation. However, its whole merit consists in being cleanly and neatly kept, for it is a large, empty house, and the garden, so called, is little more than a pasture-field, with nice gravel walks cut through it, bordered with fine rose-bushes, and beautified by a clear fountain.
We went to the As house, which is half way between San Angel and Coyohuacan; the Señora A driving me herself in an open carratela with white frisones (northern horses) which, compared with the spirited little Mexican steeds, look gigantic. We went first to see the church, which was brilliantly illuminated, and ornamented with loads of flowers and fruit, (especially oranges) and thronged with ragged léperos and blanketed Indians. We then set off to endeavor, if possible, to find a place in the crowd, who had hurried off to see el prendimiento, (the taking of Christ) and to hear the curate preach an appropriate sermon in a portable pulpit, amongst the trees.
