CUAUTLA.
25th September. The next morning was Sunday. We arose early and went to the town of Cuautla, passing great numbers of Indians with half-shaved heads, on their way to the Sunday market, where they usually assemble in the Plaza to purchase and sell their commodities. As we reached the town, the bells were ringing for mass, and we strolled into several of the churches. One of them was being repaired, and the altars were filled with skulls and bones that had been taken up while the floor was undergoing the requisite renovation. In the parroquia or parish church, the stench from the dead bodies beneath the rough boards over which we trod, was so abominable that I hastened out of it, without examining some figures of Saints and Apostles done up in dresses that resembled very much the antique uniforms of the eighteenth century. Such anachronisms however are of frequent occurrence, and I have before alluded to them, in the instance where even our Saviour was represented in one of the most splendid churches of Mexico, in purple velvet robe and a Guayaquil sombrero!
In the square, there were hundreds of Indians under cane booths, on mats spread with fruits, skins, rebosos, serapes, ices, orgeats, lemonade, vegetables, flowers, and all the varied products of the tierra caliente. I stepped into one and breakfasted on oranges, sponge cake and iced milk. The stores around the square were all open, and indeed I saw no cessation of the usual week-day occupations, except among the Indians, who thronged the Plaza. The women, as on yesterday, lolled in the broad window-sills; the men lolled opposite them, or leaned against the walls in the shade—and the excessive heat seemed to have predisposed every one, before ten o'clock, to a doze or a siesta.
In one of the stores (while Don Juan was bargaining for a horse,) the owner showed me a centipede of the tierra caliente, a horrible reptile of the scorpion kind, with which he says the old houses of Cuautla are infested. These and the alacranes (a sort of cross of the spider on the scorpion,) are the scourges of the warm country, and the bite of both frequently results in the extreme illness of adults, and the death of children.
As we were leaving the square, we met the cobbler landlord of the Cuautla inn. He was stumping along, with his apron rolled up, as on yesterday;—he bit his lip and shook his head, as much as to say, "Let me ever catch you out on the hills, alone, old fellows!"
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We returned to the hacienda of Sta. Inez about noon, where a sumptuous breakfast awaited us. After partaking of it, and bidding a most
