[Illustration: CARRYING THE BRIDE.]

Master M. had much to learn about deities. At the head of these stood
one, infinite, supreme ruler, "the unknown God," and next beneath him
came Tezcatlipoca, the "son of the world," supposed to be the creator
of the earth, Huitzilopotchli was the god of war, a sort of Mars, but
with very much more name. Then there was the god of air, Quetzatcoatl,
who controlled vegetation, metals, and the politics of the country.
Here is something Master M. was taught to believe of him:

When this god, whom we will call Q, was on earth, vegetation was so
wonderfully prolific that a single ear of corn was all a man could
carry. Everything the people needed grew spontaneously. Cotton grew
more beautifully tinted than the dyers of the present time could color
it. Richest perfumes loaded temperate breezes, and everywhere the
gaudiest-colored birds filled the air with most entrancing harmonies.
Q had some little difficulty, however, with the rest of the gods, and
was obliged to leave his little paradise. When he embarked in his
wizard snake-skin canoe on the shore of the gulf, he told his friends
that his descendents would one day return and bless the land as he had
done, and that they would be like him,--tall, fine looking, with dark
hair, white skins, and flowing beards. Alas! this belief was in no
small degree the cause of their ruin; for the invading Spaniards quite
nearly answered this description of Q's descendants.

[Illustration: THE WEDDING OF MONTEZUMA.]

There were thirteen of the principal deities, as Master M. learned,
each of whom required sacrifices more or less horrible. For instance,
there was the "soul of the world," I forget his other name. He must
be propitiated now and then. A year before the fatal day, a tall,
beautiful, well-formed, unblemished captive was selected to play the
part of this god for one year. He must have all these qualifications
to make the resemblance as perfect as possible. He was now treated
as a god. Everything he could wish, everything it was thought could
possibly conduce to his pleasure, comfort, or happiness, was furnished
without stint. He slept on the softest of couches in the most gorgeous
of chambers; his raiment was profuse and expensive, and the whole
surroundings were, as far as possible, in keeping with his high and
holy estate. Birds and music, flowers and rare perfumes pleased every
sense, and everything, save liberty, was his. This happy-g