IXOTLE.
RURING a sojourn in Tepic of
some six weeks, for the purpose
of making collections of Ornithology, I
went into the almost impenetrable moun tains of San Juan Guaya, and came to the old Mission of San Luis.
The little village was ensconced among the mountains, with bold and magnificent scenery. Cultivation of maize and beans in small patches abounded everywhere. The village consisted of some adode houses, and numerous jaca/s; the population, of half-civilized Indians. In the centre of the village was a very ancient, but small church, built of stone. The roof and its rough walls were overgrown with plants, giving it an air of age and decay. In the adjoining building I was shown the venerable Cura, whose form, that had been once tall, seemed to be as ancient as the dilapidated building that sheltered him. Though age told upon him, as his gray hairs and care-worn visage fully attested, he yet possessed that vigor of mind and keen memory we often find in the persons of those enthusiastic ecclesiastical recluses who have wandered into the very depth of the wilderness, to subdue the savage to Christianity and civilization.
The old man had dwelt in this spot for forty-eight years, endeavoring to tame these wild Indians, and induce them to adopt that partial civilization and Christianity to which most of the native Mexicans have been brought, but in vain; they still retained their ancient customs toaconsiderable degree, and were known as Sozado's wild Indians, who scorned to associate with their neighbors of the lowlands. They venerated the old Cxva, and many attended his church on Sundays; but they cared very little for
Christianity, and nothing for civilization.
I found the Cura to be a very intelligent man, and a Spaniard by birth. He appeared to take much interest in my collections of Natural History, upon which subject I found him better informed than most people in that region. He told me of the different species I would find in those mountains: of birds of resplendent plumage —of birds that sang, and those without song—and he knew all their Indian names. At length he said: "You ought to visit the islands of the Tres Marias. There you will find the forest full of birds, and so tame as to be taken by the hand." I replied that I had already been there, and what he said was true; for I had discovered some rare birds, and made a fine collection.
After some conversation upon these islands, of which he had heard much, but had never seen, I at length asked him why so beautiful a spot should have never been populated, either by native aborigines or modern Mexicans? In reply he then told me the following tradition, which was related to him by an old Cacigue of the tribe that once inhabited these mountains, but long since dead:
" Senor," said he, "these islands were held sacred by the ancient Mexicans of the west, or coast region, and dedicated as a place of worship to the God of the Storms of the Sea, Tlaxicoltetl: here he dwelt, and here he governed the whirlwind and the storm.
"One human victim—a virgin or youth —was offered as a sacrifice upon the rough-hewn coral altar annually, on St. John's day, the 24th of June,
