his way among the Mexicans, and taught them
empirically the calculations and divisions of time, and a very few of
the arts of civilized life unknown to our Indians, and they venerated
him as a god. But the probabilities are that the whole story is a myth,
and for once the Inquisition was right in suppressing speculation in
relation to him, whether he was Saint Thomas or not.

At the base of this pyramid, three hundred years ago, flourished the
rich and opulent city of Cholula, which, according to Cortez,[12]
contained 40,000 houses. He says that he counted from this spot 400
mosques,[13] and 400 towers of other mosques--that the "exterior of this
city is more beautiful than any in Spain." That is, as he and all other
historians of the Conquest agree in representing it, it was at the same
time not only the Mecca and the commercial centre, but the centre of
learning and refinement of Mexico. Here Indian philosophers met upon a
common footing with Indian merchants. Its government, too, was
republican; and upon these very plains, three hundred years ago and
more, flourished two powerful republics, Tlascala and Cholula. The
first was the Lacedaemon, the second the Athens of the Indian world, and
when united they had successfully resisted the armies of Montezuma and
his Aztecs. But Aztec intrigue was too powerful for the American
Athens, and the polished city of Cholula having been subdued by the
same arts by which Philip of Macedon had won the sovereignty of
Athens--a combination of intrigue and of arms--Tlascala was left alone
to resist the whole force of the Aztec empire, now aided by the
faithless Cholulans. Yet Tlascala was undismayed by the new combination
brought to bear against her, and did not readily listen to the proposed
alliance of Cortez. It was only after three terrible battles with
Cortez, that Tlascala learned to appreciate the value of his
alliance--an alliance which has conferred upon her perpetual freedom
and a distinct political organization to the present time.

This is the poetry of the thing. Let us give it a little matter-of-fact
examination.

The spot on which I stand, instead of being what it has often been
represented to be, is but a shapeless mass of earth 205 feet high,
occupying a village square of 1310 feet. It is sufficiently wasted by
time to give full scope to the imagination to fill out or restore it to
almost any form. One hundred years ago, some rich citizen constructed
steps up its si