from his hands and feet. On each side stood a tall female figure clothed in black, in an attitude of wo. As the words of the second commandment involuntarily flashed across my mind, two church officials bowed before this graven image and passed on. Near the door was stationed a band with drums and fifes, and farther off natives were beating their tomtoms.
At the other extremity of the compound, a crowd was assembled before the residence of the priests. They were preparing for the procession, overlooked by two European priests who stood in the verandah of the house. Several images, brilliantly but tawdrily decorated, were placed upon pyramidal forms. The most conspicuous was the figure of a monk, holding a book in his left hand, on which a child was seated. The platform on which he was placed and the umbrella over his head were completely covered with flowers. A native woman was explaining the figures to a man, whether heathen or Christian I know not. I asked her who the images were. “This,” she replied, pointing to the monk, “is San Antonio, and the one in his hand is the Lord. Yes, that very one is the Lord." Upon this the man made a worshipful obeisance. On being asked why the
