FROM COBAJST TO QUEZALTEXANGO. 133 
legend states at length that the youth, in passing along 
the edge of the terrible precipice above the Lago one dark 
night (when he had been to his club), mistook the gleam 
of the water for the path, and forced his horse over. As 
he fell, he breathed a prayer to the “Mother of God,” and 
she opened her window and jerked him up again with a 
grape-vine. In testimony whereof he offers this tablet, 
etc. Near the main entrance was a large altar-piece, 
with a deeply sunken cruciform panel containing a very 
realistic crucifix, — glass eyes, swreat, long hair, and blood- 
drops, indeed, everything that could make it disgusting 
to a civilized being* while from the five wounds pro¬ 
ceeded skeins of crimson thread, — that from the side 
being much thicker, —■ and all these knotted together in 
a mass, black with the kisses of the worshippers of the 
blood of Christ. On one side of this panel were painted, 
life-size, Roman soldiers mocking the suffering Saviour; 
while on the other was a Guatemaltecan general, in full 
uniform, weeping at the sad sight, and using such an 
embroidered handkerchief as the nuns make at the pres¬ 
ent day. Just behind him was an attendant who had 
caught off his wig on the point of his lance. This last 
feature Frank interprets differently, and thinks the bald 
head is a shining casque, while what I call a wig is a 
flowing plume. With all due deference to his younger 
and brighter eyes, I submit that such a helmet was never 
a part of the Guatemaltecan uniform; and even if made 
of such close-fitting shape, would not have been painted 
flesh-color. Unluckily I did not take a photograph, to 
settle, if possible, this important dispute. 
Frank was busily asking every one he met about 
mules; and we had not found any when, late in the 
