diem, according to the emergency of the matter, and the faculty of the inhabitants to pay. Disease being the most selfish of all demands upon a man's purse, he will more readily rid himself of its attacks by a fee and a prayer, than by a doctor and a nauseous dose. A piece of painted wood and an opportune ejaculation, are much more palatable than the nostrum and long face of even the kindest physician.
After passing through the village of Tacuba, (now only remarkable for a few Indian remains, among which are part of a Mexican pyramid, in the rear of a fine church erected by Cortéz, and a noble cypress, doubtless of the days of Montezuma,) we ascended the hill among the increasing crowd of people on foot, in carts, on mules and horses. The church is surrounded by a few miserable huts of adobe, which scarcely merit the name of a village; and as we approached the edifice we were forced to leave our carriage, on account of the dense crowd of léperos and Indians. I am confident, that not less than seven thousand were then upon the spot.
There was but a narrow path to the church-gate, and on each aide of it were stalls, tables, and mats of the humbler classes, covered with fruits, dried meats, and pulque—the latter of which, from the glibness of the tongue and the incessant hum of voices around, must have been pretty freely circulated. Gamblers, too, were not wanting: there was one fellow with his dice, and a dozen with monté—balls rolling; cards shuffling; venders crying their merchandise; Indians chattering in the Mexican and Ottomy dialects; the yell of a thousand squalling babies—and the bells tolling! All combined to make a perfect Babel of noise, yet I am in considerable doubt whether my ears suffered more than my olfactories.
I shouldered my way through the crowd, and entered the large courtyard in front of the church, which has once been a tasteful edifice, surrounded by a corridor, with a roof supported by stout columns, inclosing a beautiful garden. All is now in ruins, and the pillars of half the corridor lie in heaps in the corners, filled with filth and rubbish, with gigantic aloes growing in their crannies.
From the steeple of the church to the top of the gateway, five ropes were stretched, and a large flower made of silk, in the shape of a pomegranate, was ascending and descending on each of them, drawn up and let down by men stationed on the azotéa of the edifice. Among these flowers was an image of Juan Diego, the virtuous Indian to whom the Virgin presented the miraculous picture, which is now in the Sanctuary of Guadalupe. Juan, I imagine, was a sort of invited guest from one Virgin to the other, and seemed to enjoy himself vastly as he was jerked up and down on the rope by the Indians, who varied their task by an occasional pull at the bells.
When we entered the church mass had not yet begun, and the edifice was comparatively empty. Indeed, I did not find it (except once during the day) very crowded with Indians, who seemed better satisfied with their goat-meat and pulque in the fresh air out of doors.
