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Rh May He descend in mercy soon upon this long-suffering people.

The same parks and hills and divides accompany us into the next cultured hollow, which incloses the flourishing town of Venada. Thence our last posta brings us to Chalcos, a mineral town of fifteen thousand inhabitants. Into its large square, centred with a fountain, we gallop, before five o'clock, and finish our first day at sea. How glad the sea-sick people on the Atlantic would be if they could get off, and get into unshaking beds every twelve hours. This gives even the stage a vast superiority over the ship. Twelve hours' run, twelve rest, carry us without great weariness forward to our port.

This is a flourishing silver mining town of small size. Yet a million of dollars a year are taken out of its mines. Four haciendas reduce the ore. The mines are owned by French gentlemen. Several pretty plazas adorn the town, which romantically lies on the slope of not steep hills.

As I was walking through the street just at dark with a native who was showing me the place, I saw the people kneeling, and heard the bell toll. Asking my man the meaning, "El Viatico," he replies—the Holy Wafer borne to the dying bed. The priest came, with a black umbrella over his head; boys with candles on either side, and a few persons walking with him. He held the wafer in his hand. Down went my guide upon his knees. After he had passed, I asked who it was that was dying. "Un grand hombre" (an old man). "Sick long?" "Only fifteen days." "Of what?" "Fever." So a poor soul is going to his account to-night in this town. How many elsewhere the wide earth over! Our first day may be our last. "Be ye also ready; for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh." This was the first sight of