to be found, after they had disappeared from the rest of the habitable globe; and even now, though the private carriages are all of a more modern type, there are still left a few of these amazing vehicles, now degraded to the cab-stand; and we got into one that was embellished with sculptured Cupids—­their faces as much mutilated as the two Montezumas—­and with the remains of the painting and gilding, which once covered the whole affair, just visible in corners, like the colouring of the ceilings of the Alhambra.  We had to climb up three high steps, and haul ourselves into the body of the coach, which hung on strong leather straps; springs belong to a later period.  By the time we had got to the Paseo de las Vigas we were glad enough to get out, wondering at the sacrifice of comfort to dignity those highly respectable grandees must have made, and not surprised at the fate of some inquisitive travellers who have done as we did, and have been obliged to stop by the qualms of sea-sickness.  At the bridge we chartered a canoe to Santa Anita.  This Santa Anita is a little Indian village on the canal of Chalco, and to-day there is to be a festival there.  For this, however, we shall be too early, as we have to be back in time to see Mexico turn out for a promenade on the Paseo de las Vigas, and then to go out to dinner.  So we must just take the opportunity of looking at the Indian population as they go up and down the canal in canoes, and see their gardens and their houses.  However, as the Indian notion of a festival consists in going to mass in the morning, and getting drunk and fighting in the afternoon, we are perhaps as well out of it.  We took our passage to Santa Anita and back in a canoe—­a mere flat-bottomed box with sloping sides, made of boards put together with wooden pegs.  There was a mat at the stern for us to squat upon, and an awning over our heads.  An old Indian and his son were the crew; and they had long poles, which they set against the banks or the bottom of the shallow canal, and so pushed us along.  Besides these two, an old woman with two little girls got in, as we were starting—­without asking our leave, by the way—­and sat down at the other end of the canoe.  Of course, the old woman began to busy herself with the two little girls, in the usual occupation of old women here, during their idle moments; and though she left off at our earnest request, she evidently thought us very crotchety people for objecting.

The scene on the canal was a curious one.  There were numbers of boats going up and down; and the Indians, as soon as they caught sight of an acquaintance, began to shout out a long string of complimentary phrases, sometimes in Spanish and sometimes in Mexican:  “How is your worship this morning?” “I trust that I have the happiness of seeing your worship in good health.”  “If there is anything I can have the honour of doing for your worship, pray dispose of me,” and so forth; till they are out of hearing.  All this is accompanied by a taking-off of hats, and a series of low bows and complimentary grimaces.  As far as we could ascertain, it is all mere matter of ceremony.  It may be an exaggeration of the formal, complimentary talk of the Spaniards, but its origin probably dates further back.