interest!  There was another thing to be noticed about the Judases.  The makers had evidently tried to vary them as much as they could; and, by that very means, had shown how impossible it was to them to strike out anything new.  There were two types; one was the Neapolitan Polichinello, whom we have naturalised as Punch; and the other the God Pan, with his horns, and hoofs, and tail, whom the whole Christian world has recognised as the devil, for these many ages.  Well, some took one type and some the other; and a few tried to combine the two, of course spoiling both.  But, beyond this, their power of invention could not go.  They were always trying to conceal the old idea, and could do no more than to distort it.  We could see through their flimsy pretensions to originality much as a schoolmaster recognises the extracts from the encyclopaedia in his boys’ essays.

As with this Judas trade, so it is with other more important arts and sciences in this country.  The old types descend, almost unchanged, from generation to generation.  Everything that is really Mexican is either Aztec or Spanish.  Among the Spanish types we may separate the Moorish.  Our knowledge of Mexico is not sufficient to enable us to analyse the Aztec civilization, so we must be content with these three classes.  I will not go further into the question here, for occasions will continually occur to show how—­for three centuries at least—­the inhabitants of Mexico, both white and brown, have taken their ideas at second-hand, always copying but never developing anything.

All this time my companion and I have been walking about the streets; in evening-dress, as the etiquette of the place demands, on these three days, from the “better classes.”  The Mexican ladies may be advantageously studied just now in their church-going black silk dress and mantilla, one of the most graceful costumes in the world.  It is not often that one has the chance of seeing them out of doors, except hurrying to and from Mass in the morning, or in carriages on the Alameda; but on these festival days one meets them by hundreds.  They do not contrast favorably with the ladies of Cadiz and Seville.  The mixture of Aztec blood seems to have detracted from the beauty of the Spanish race; the dryness of the atmosphere spoils their complexions; and the monstrous quantity of capsicums that are consumed at every meal cannot possibly leave the Mexican digestion in its proper state.

We dined that day with Don Jose de A., who, though Spanish-American by birth, was English by education and feeling, and had known my companion’s family well.  Our dinner was half English, half Mexican; and the favourite dishes of the country were there, to aid in our initiation into Mexican manners and customs.  The cooks at the inns, mindful of our foreign origin, had dealt out the red pepper with a sparing hand; but to-day the dish of “mole” was the genuine article, and the first mouthful set