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 Rh At the cemetery the graves are almost buried beneath the offerings of yellow papers, which are blown about by the winds until they form in drifts, like the snow in the streets of the cities of the Atlantic coast. Red candles', of vegetable wax, are lighted and stuck in the ground by thousands; and a cloth being spread upon the ground at the foot of each grave by its particular visitor, the feast is arranged upon it, the cups filled with sam-shoo, tea, etc., and then the living friend, bowing with solemn politeness, invites the disembodied spirit or spirits to come and help themselves. After that, he walks around and chats gaily with his living friends, smokes, drinks a little rice wine, and then, quietly packing up the eatables, which are none the worse for the service they have done, and placing them in the wagon again, spills the drinkables on the ground, and returns to the city (proudly conscious of having done his duty well, like a man and a Chinaman), to dine upon "the funeral baked meats" himself. The spirits, as their name would indicate, take only the etherial part of the feast, and the living men get the most substantial, and to them at least most valuable portion of the comestibles.

An old and venerable member of the Christian church—a bright and shining light of the faith, who resides at Auburn, New York—once told me, while engaged in distributing tracts in the English language, which they could not read, to the poor native Protestants of Mexico, that he had learned, from long experience, that the true secret of Christian charity was to be able to do good unto others without