in the lofty walls. From dawn to dark the slow monotone of the Gregorian chant floats in alternate antiphon and response between the robed priests within the sanctuary, and scarlet-gowned, shrill-voiced choristers, half hidden behind tall music-stands. The people, reverent and silent, glide in for a moment's prayer in the pauses of the day's duties; and a certain mystical atmosphere of religious solemnity, which seems to belong by right to the place, forces itself upon the most material nature. The great cathedrals of Puebla and Mexico reach naturally the highest expression of artistic merit, being magnificent in proportion, and richer even than usual in carving and bas-reliefs.
It is Sunday morning in the City of Mexico. The air is filled with the thin tinkling of innumerable bells; and, guided by their stridulous call, the streets swarm in every direction with a church-going multitude. The strange, overpowering smells of the sewerless city are masked for the time by the fragrance of flowers in the hands of every passing woman and child, — flowers massed in the arms of street-sellers, flowers stacked on the corners and gateways of courts waiting for
