It is very common for the owners of these haciendas to be absentees, and to leave the entire control of their estates to the administradors; but at Temisco, which is much better managed than most others, this is not the case, and the son of the proprietor generally lives there. He was out riding, so we sent our horses to the stable, and lounged about eating sugar-canes till he should return. Presently he came, a young man in a broad Mexican hat and white jacket and trousers, mounted on a splendid little horse, with his saddle glittering with silver, every inch a planter. He welcomed us hospitably, and we sat down together in the cloister looking out on the courtyard.
Evening was closing in, and all at once the church-bell rang. Crowds of Indian labourers in their white dresses came flocking in, hardly distinguishable in the twilight, and the sound of their footsteps deadened as they walked over the dry stubble that covered the ground. All work ceased, every one uncovered and knelt down; while, through the open church-doors, we heard the Indian choir chanting the vesper hymn.
In the haciendas of Mexico every day ends thus. Many times I heard the Oración chanted at nightfall, but its effect never diminished by repetition, and to my mind it has always seemed the most impressive of religious services.
Then the Administrador seated himself behind a great book, and the calling over the “raya” began. Every man in turn was called by name, and answered in a loud voice, “I praise God!;” then saying how much he had earned in the day, for the Administrador to write down. “Juan Fernandez!”—“Alabo a Dios, tres reales y medio:” “I praise God, one and ninepence.” “José Valdes!”—“I praise God, eighteen pence, and sixpence for the boy;” and so on, through a couple of hundred names.
Then came, not unacceptably, a little cup of pasty chocolate and a long roll for each of us. Then Don Guillermo and our host talked about their