before the image, they were deposited in the sacristy. A constant succession of these oblations poured in until near two o'clock; when the morning services being finished, the image was taken from the tabernacle and placed under a canopy, while a priest bore the consecrated wafer, and the procession began its march. All heads were at once uncovered, and I went to the upper story of the church to have a better view of the ceremony. At the door of the church stood a ragged Indian, with a large firework on his head, made in the shape of a horse, surrounded with squibs and rockets; behind him were five men and a woman from one of the villages, neatly dressed, their heads being covered with red silk or cotton handkerchiefs. The men bore thin staves in their hands, and small coops, made of cane, were strapped on their backs. The woman held a covered basket before her, and one of the men thrummed a guitar, giving forth the same monotonous tune of the flageolets and drum. As soon as the procession reached the portal, the whole crowd knelt, and a number of small rockets and cannons were fired by the Indians. The huge flowers—which I have before described as ascending and descending on ropes from the church tower to the gate—were pulled open by a secret spring, and a shower of rose leaves fell from them over the passing priests and images. Juan Diego's knees were bent by some equally secret machinery, and he continued on his slack-rope pilgrimage through the air. The flageolet and the drum were once more put into requisition, and the Indian with the horse-firework, accompanied by six others, began retreating in a trotting dance as the holy image approached— whirling and hopping to the barbarous music, ever careful to keep their faces to the Virgin. Suddenly, an Indian stole behind the one who bore aloft the firework, and touched its match. At this moment the bells began to chime,—and thus, amid their clang, the detonation of the squibs, cannons and rockets, and the loud cracking of the exploding horse, the procession sallied from the court-yard to the village, to make a tour of the plaza among the gamblers, pulque shops, and fruit- sellers; all of whom suspended their operations for the moment, and knelt to the sacred figure.
After the return of the Virgin to the church, there was another grand explosion of fireworks on a wheel, and more cannons were discharged. The multitude then gathered together in groups, and made their frugal meal of fruits, dulce, tortillas, and the never-failing frijoles and chilé. By four o'clock, the majority of the Indians had trotted off once more to their villages, some of which were at a distance of not less than twenty or thirty miles.
The whole of the ceremony of this day, seemed to me nothing more than an Indian “corn-dance;" and it is, no doubt, among the simple- minded Indians, a festival of thankfulness to God for the crops with which the bountiful seasons have blessed them; in other words, a substitute for the sacrifices which they once made of fruits, flowers, and birds, to their goddess Centeotl.
