burden from her back, and then began as usual to chat with me, her extreme age and trembling frame appealing strongly to my sympathies. When I had sung her grito over and over with her, she made the sign of the cross over the olla in which she kept her tamales, then crossed herself, saying: "In the name of the Divina Providencia may I have enough customers to buy these tamales, that I may go early to my home. I am weary of trudging these streets, and mi pobre casa is far away." Before leaving, she turned to me, and, with tears streaming down her face, placed her hand on my head and said: "Niña, you leave us to-night to go to your home, that is far, far away in another land; may the Divina Providencia take you safely there; may you find your people well, and some day before I die, may you return to us here, and sing again with me this grito!"
On the feast of All Souls, they place a table on the sidewalk containing such articles of food as their dead friends and relatives liked best—even to the pulque. When morning comes, it is, of course, all gone, and the donor is duly happy, because she imagines the dear dead ones have returned and partaken of their favorite food, when in reality, mischievous boys have consumed these precious edibles. On this day the various venders and outside help come for their gifts, just as newsboys come for their contributions on New Year's. These gifts are disguised under the name of calaveras—skulls. Each one asks in his own characteristic fashion, the paper carrier in the following verse:
"Your faithful carrier
Cheerfully presents himself.
Encouraged by the hope
Of obtaining your favor:
You who are a subscriber,
Applauded everywhere
For that sincere loyalty
With which you are accustomed to pay:
He only comes to beg you
To give him his 'Calavera.'"
