from prison, many from fatal sicknesses, and hundreds of canes and crutches in the corner testify to the many who have been healed.
A little green plaza filled with tall
trees, beautiful and flowing fountains, separates the church of the Virgin of Guadalupe from another, which, in order to have some attraction, flowers, boasts of a well in the vestibule, which is ever boiling up its muddy water. The water cures any disease, so they say, and at any time a crowd is found around filling its magic brim filling jars, bottles, and pitchers to take home, or supping from the copper bowl that is chained to the iron that cover the well. Very few can suppress the look of disgust when they try to swallow the vile stuff with the all-healing qualities.
Nor are these all the churches of Guadalupe. Away up on top of a pile of rocks, some hundred feet in height, is the oldest church of the three. It is quite small, and filled with quaint paintings.
At the back of it is the graveyard, where lies the body of Santa Anna, and looking down over the brow of the hill the tourist can see the building where the treaty of peace was signed with the Americans in 1848.
It is now used as the barracks. At one side of the church is one of the queer monuments raised in honor of the Virgin. The Escandon family, who are believed to be worth some $20,000,000, once had a vessel out to sea, the loss of which would have put them in bankruptcy. There
