now mountains, their glories reflected in the
shining waters of the lake, must have been a sublime spectacle. On such
occasions the little plaza would indeed have been worth seeing. We may
imagine the gayly caparisoned Incas, their faces lit up by the colors
of "rosy-fingered dawn, daughter of the morning," their ceremonial
formation sharply outlined against the high, decorated walls of
the buildings behind them. Perhaps the rulers and high priests had
special stations in front of the large, step-topped niches. One may
be sure that a people who were fond of bright colors, who were able
to manufacture exquisite textiles, and who loved to decorate their
garments with spangles and disks of beaten gold, would have lost no
opportunity for making the ancient ceremonies truly resplendent.

On the peninsula of Copacabana, opposite the sacred islands, a great
annual pageant is still staged every August. Although at present
connected with a pious pilgrimage to the shrine of the miraculous
image of the "Virgin of Copacabana," this vivid spectacle, the
most celebrated fair in all South America, has its origin in the
dim past. It comes after the maize is harvested and corresponds to
our Thanksgiving festival. The scene is laid in the plaza in front
of a large, bizarre church. During the first ten days in August
there are gathered here thousands of the mountain folk from far and
near. Everything dear to the heart of the Aymara Indian is offered
for sale, including quantities of his favorite beverages. Traders,
usually women, sit in long rows on blankets laid on the cobblestone
pavement. Some of them are protected from the sun by primitive
umbrellas, consisting of a square cotton sheet stretched over a bamboo
frame. In one row are those traders who sell parched and popped corn;
in another those who deal in sandals and shoes, the simple gear
of the humblest wayfarer and the elaborately decorated high-laced
boots affected by the wealthy Chola women of La Paz. In another row
are the dealers in Indian blankets; still another is devoted to such
trinkets as one might expect to find in a "needle-and-thread" shop at
home. There are stolid Aymara peddlers with scores of bamboo flutes
varying in size from a piccolo to a bassoon; the hat merchants, with
piles of freshly made native felts, warranted to last for at least a
year; and vendors of aniline dyes. The fabrics which have come to us
from Inca times are colored with beautifully soft vegetab