a job he undertook he hardly then dreamed. How much labor and loss of life, fightings without and fears within, before he rode a conqueror through these streets, which he had made without inhabitant, and almost without a dwelling-place. Inch by inch he leveled off the Aztec city. Two years and over he plotted and fought, and fought and plotted, ere the prize was his.
The bloodless battle now being fought for the recovery of this same land to Christ, how long will that take? How many will fall? Not so bloodless, perhaps, after all. A more cunning enemy than Montezuma, a more daring one than Guatemozin is to be subdued. He may kill many ere he himself is slain. But conquer Christ will. This earth in all its beauty is His. These people in all their lowliness are His. The Church He has saved with His most precious blood must come hither bearing the true cross of personal holiness, and by patient continuance in well-doing bring up this population to the level of Christian probity, piety, and peace.
It is a grander work than any ever before devised. It is worthy of the Church and its Divine Head. Let it be steadily prosecuted. Match Cortez in his patience, perseverance, persistence, and it will be done.
The sun grows hot and hotter. The shelter of the bass-relief is gone. A deep recess below gives a stone seat in the corner, just fitted for shade and air. The breezes of Popocatepetl glide coolingly over the leaf and the writer. You have seen Mexico from the house-top; let us take a new page, and show you Mexico from the sidewalk.
