they plaintively looked on her image, and bowed in a sorrowing farewell, that they excited a sympathetic feeling in the coldest heart.
I was forcibly reminded of the lines of our great American poet, who so fully appreciated the mystery of Indian character, religion, and tradition :
"Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple,
Who have faith in God and Nature,
Who believe, that in all ages
Every human heart is human,
That in even savage bosoms
There are longings, yearnings, strivings,
For the good they comprehend not,
That the feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,
Touch God's right hand in that darkness,
And are lifted up and strengthened."
At the sacred shrine of Guadalupe, eight days after the feast has been duly celebrated by the Indians and common people, the wealth, beauty, and fashion of the capital wend their way thither to tender their renewed obligations to the patron saint.
I was a guest at a sumptuous celebration in honor of the Señora Doña Guadalupe Bros, who invited me to participate in the ceremonies and festivities of her dia de santa.
At seven o'clock in the morning mass was celebrated in the chapel, with the administration of the Holy Communion, followed by an impressive sermon from the young cura of the church of Santa Vera Cruz—Daniel Escobar. A full orchestra dispensed the sweet and solemn strains of Mozart.
Many distinguished society people were there, among them the wife and daughters of General Corona. The ladies all wore black dresses with lace mantillas.
The numerous lighted tapers were gifts from foundling and orphan institutions, of which the Señora Doña Guadalupe is a benefactress. All were deeply moved by the solemnity of the services, the more
