only difference being, that the vinegar bottles were jolted on the backs of meek burros, or in carts, a thousand miles, and I had arrived, safe and sound, by diligence.
I asked: "Have you ham?"—"No hay" (pronounced eye), ("There is none ").
"Pickles?"— "No hay."
"Powdered sugar?"—"No hay."
"Crackers?"—"Tampoco" ("Neither").
"Salt?"—"Si hay" ("Yes, there is some").
"Coffee?"— "Si hay."
"Frijoles?" (beans)—"Tambien" ("Also").
"Candles?"—"Si hay."
"Potatoes?"—"Ya no hay, se acabaron" ("They are finished — all gone ").
Going to market, a matter-of-fact affair in the United States, resolved itself into a novel adventure.
The heterogeneous assemblage of goods, and the natural and artificial products of the country, astonished me equally with the strange venders. There was so much that was at once humorous, pitiable, and grotesque, all of which was heightened when I reached home, and observed quite a number of the "procession" in the rear. Once over the threshold, Pancho slammed the door in their faces, saying, "Son pobres todos, y sin verguenzas!" ("They are all poor and without shame").
Every day the strange enigma unfolded itself before me, with accrued interest. My lot had been cast among these people, when in total ignorance of their habits and customs. My aim and purpose, above all things, was to establish a home among them on the basis of the one left behind. The sequel will show how well I succeeded. But while endeavoring to cope with the servants, and comprehend their peculiarities, I found nothing more amusing.
Our Mexican friends made daily visits to the house, and were always ready to enjoy with me the latest humorous episode furnished by the servants. I was often assured by these friends that the oddi-
