the square. A postilion, dressed in a brilliantly embroidered jaceti, leathern pantaloons, a sombrero, and immensely large spurs, bestrides one of the mules; and on each side of the vehicle is marshalled a band of youths in long vestments, chanting a hymn to the Virgin as they move along. A priest, arrayed in gorgeous vestments, sits cosily within; he is on his way to carry the consecrated wafer to the deathbed of some expiring penitent—a wealthy sinner, who is, of course, worthy of his attention.
As the carriage approaches, the whole of the crowd simultaneously kneel down—the men uncovering; each one utters a prayer, and the more ruffianly the worshipper, the louder his supplications are sure to be. No sooner has the vehicle turned the opposite corner, however, than a sudden change takes place: all rise from their knees; the Indians, with fruit and earthenware, begin to quarrel with the proprietors of the asses and panniers for encroaching on their allotment of the space; they, in return, threaten to overthrow the chicken-coops of the market-women; and the shrill voices of the latter join to swell the discord. The tradesman once more puffs the smoke of
