It was after five before we reached San Bartolome.  As we drew near the village, we saw a magnificent double rainbow, brilliantly displayed upon the eastern sky against a cloud of almost inky blackness.  Looking westward, as we entered the village, we saw the sun setting in a sea of gold, between Popocatapetl and Ixtaccihuatl.  Watching this magnificent sunset, we sat down before the old church, and almost instantly a crowd gathered to see what the strangers might want.  Don Romualdo, in wandering through the village, found a temascal in use, and hurrying to us, led us to see the method of its use.  It is a dome-shaped structure, with an entrance so low that one must crawl upon his hands and knees in entering; it is a sweat-bath, used for cleanliness and health.  A quick fire, built inside, heats it thoroughly, after which water is thrown upon the hot stones to produce steam.  Four persons, of both sexes, were in the one in question, taking a sweat-bath.  When we returned to our companions, sitting before the church, an indian of the village, accosting Don Romualdo, claimed to know him; he also claimed my acquaintance, and reminded me that he had been one of the subjects I had measured two years before in Tlaxcala.  A score or more of natives had gathered, in the moonlight, around our party.  Having heard some indians singing, we tried to get these to sing some native songs.  Only after Louis and Frank had sung some English songs, which were well received, were we able to hear Aztec songs in exchange.  After a long delay, we were taken to the schoolhouse for supper and the night, and spent the balance of the evening in taking down a native song, The Tlaxcalteca, and witnessing a dance which accompanied it.  A bed was made up for the party by putting various benches and tables together.

[Illustration:  TLAXCALAN HOUSE WITH TEMASCAL.]

[Illustration:  THE MAPAHO IN USE; SAN JUAN ZAUTLA]

Most of the following day was spent in visiting in the village, purchasing idols and in making notes on life and customs; at four o’clock in the afternoon, we set out for Ixcotla.  Near sunset we reached the house of Quechol’s uncle, old Isidro.  Almost eighty years of age, he was straight and lithe as a man of thirty.  His house and all the lesser buildings of his place were excellent and in fine condition.  A flight of steps led to the flat roof, from which we watched the sunset.  In the yard, were half a dozen hives for bees, made from the stocks of the maguey.  The old man was rich, and owned other houses, but he lives alone, his wife being dead and his daughters married.  He is a master of the Aztec, and uses it in its most poetical and figurative style.  He does not speak like common men, but his conversation abounds in metaphor and flowers of speech.  When once one spoke to him of his lonely and solitary life, he said, “Alone and solitary!  No, we are three!  There are here myself, my good angel, and my bad angel.