The dark-eyed señora of Spanish blood wrapped in the ample folds of her silken reboza bows on the stone floor close beside an Indian from the country on the way to market with a hen-coop on his back, and the cackling, crowing inmates of the coop in no wise disturb the prayers of either devotee. Perhaps half the crowd remembered to throw a kiss to their old deity, the sun, as they entered the shrine where the one true God is professedly worshiped. There is no Sabbath in Mexico. The sanctity of the Lord's day has been given to seasons devoted to the adoration of his disciples, and there are so many more of these saints' days than of Sabbaths in the year that if they had no other reason to obey man rather than God this would be sufficient for this pleasure-loving people. Formerly they went in the morning to mass, and then in the afternoon to a bull-fight—an institution that might seem to have come down from the bloodthirsty Aztecs did we not know that it was brought from Spain. Mexico has done better than the mother-country, for these disgusting exhibitions have been suppressed by the government.
Mexico is the paradise of equestrians; even the beggars formerly went on horseback.
The Paseo de la Riforma is a fine avenue three miles long, leading out to the famous castle of Chapultepec, beside the Chalco Canal. A ride in one of the pleasure-boats on the latter is a favorite pastime. These boats are fitted up with cushioned seats in the middle, protected by an awning, for passengers, while the boatmen use their long poles at either end. On land the way is thronged from seven to nine o'clock in the morning aud from six to seven in the evening with equestrians and gay carriages filled with ladies. The magnificent hous-
