hey share their proceeds, thus enriching
the plethoric coffers of the church. This seems almost incredible; but
it is true. The decencies of life are often ignored, and the open
streets present disgusting scenes. Men and women lie down and sleep
wherever fatigue overcomes them, upon the hard stones or in the dirt.
The town is generally barren of vegetation, though a few dreary cactus
trees manage to sustain themselves in the rocky soil, with here and
there a yucca palm.

There is a famous orphan asylum in Guadalupe which is designed to
accommodate a thousand inmates at a time, and there is also a
well-endowed college. The former of these, the Orfanatorio de Guadalupe,
is one of the most important charitable institutions in the republic.
The old church of red sandstone, with its somewhat remarkable carvings,
as exhibited upon the facade, has two graceful towers and is elaborately
finished within. The church contains a half dozen oil paintings by
Antonio de Torres, which bear the date 1720. The finest of these is that
of "The Last Supper." The very elegant interior of the chapel of the
Purisima was not completed until so late as 1886, and is justly
considered the finest modern church structure in Mexico. As one passes
out into the surrounding squalor and obtrusive poverty, it is impossible
not to moralize as to the costly, theatrical, and ostentatious road
which seems to lead to the Roman Catholic heaven.

The little market-place of Guadalupe presents a scene like a country
fair, with its booths for the sale of fruits, pottery, vegetables,
flowers, bright-hued serapes and rebosas, all combining to form a
conglomerate of color which, mingled with the moving figures of the
mahogany-hued Indian women, is by no means devoid of picturesqueness.
One must step carefully not to tread upon the little mounds and clusters
of fruits and vegetables spread upon the ground for sale. The careless,
happy laugh of a light-hearted group of senoritas rang musically upon
the ear as we watched the market scene. Their uncovered, purple-black
hair glistened in the warm sunlight, while their roguish glances, from
"soul-deep eyes of darkest night," were like sparks of electricity. Was
it their normal mood, or did the presence of a curious stranger, himself
on the _qui vive_ to see everything, move them to just a bit of
coquetry?

CHAPTER V.

A Mexican Watering Place.--Delightful Climate.--Aguas Calientes.--Young
Senoritas.--Local Ci