The Great Feast of Totagalpa 213 
end of the month, and I was only able to note down the 
exposures that occurred within sight of the road. These, 
however, were sufficient to show me that the gneiss of Depilto 
was overlain conformably by the contorted schists; that 
the latter were followed by soft trappean beds, and these by 
thick beds of quartz-conglomerate, apparently derived from 
the degradation of the schistose rocks, with their numerous 
quartz veins. 
We reached Totagalpa about eleven o'clock, and remained 
there some time engaging labourers. We stayed at the 
house of a man who made the common palm-leaf hats, worn 
throughout the central provinces by both men and women. 
ihe palm- -leaves are first boiled, then bleached in the sun, 
split into small strips, and platted together like straw. It 
was Sunday, and most of the people were in town, sitting 
at the doors of their huts, or under their verandahs. Nearly 
all the inhabitants of Totagalpa are pure Indians, and are 
simple and inoffensive people. They sat listening to three 
men, one with a whistle, the others with drums, each striving 
to make as much noise as possible, without any attempt at 
harmony or tune, whilst an enthusiast in discord kept clang- 
ing away at the bells of the church. 
They had no padre of their own, but one occasionally 
came over from Somoti, four leagues distant, to celebrate 
services or visit the sick. The next day was the great 
feast of Totagalpa, and they were preparing for it. As 
we sat under a verandah opposite the church, a procession 
of the town authorities issued from it, bearing a table and 
all the silver and brass ornaments. ‘The principal officials 
each carried his stick of office, but none, excepting the 
Alcalde, could boast a pair of shoes. Their looks of im- 
portance and gravity showed, however, that they considered 
themselves the chief actors in an important ceremony. The 
procession slowly traversed half the round of the plaza, 
whilst the bells clanged, the whistle squeaked, and the 
drummers thumped their loudest. Stopping at a house at 
the corner of the plaza, the officials seated themselves on a 
bench outside. Then was brought out to them in bowls, 
nearly as large as wash-hand basins, the old Indian drink, 
“‘chicha,” made from fermented corn and sugar. Each 
man had one of the great bowls and a napkin; the latter 
