CHAPTER VII.

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"My spirit like a deer was free,

Ranging through forest wilds alone."

D'ALTON.

THERE was an extensive view from the summit of the rock at the entrance of the bay. And Zemaco took Aguilar to the top that he might see it. The evening was pleasant, and the setting sun was reflected, as by a hundred mirrors, in the lake, as it was seen in all directions, peeping through the foliage and between the houses of Mexico, and more distant cities built on the other lakes in the valley. Gay palaces and high temples towered above the other buildings; and being built of polished marble or rose-coloured stone, also served to reflect the

rays of the sun. Not far off was the Emperor's favourite residence, erected on the hill of Chapoltepec, and called "Montezuma's mountain throne." Beyond, were fields of maize, coffee, and maguez, interspersed with blooming orchards; gardens of flowers of every hue, "scarlets and saffrons, pinks and blues." Groves of sycamore, acacia, chestnut, and the graceful pepper trees, with bright red berries, relieved the sombre appearance of thick forests of cedar, cypress, and pine. Pretty villages, overshadowed by palm trees, were dotted here and there over the landscape. Far away stretched the range of mountains which shut off the valley from the adjacent country; while higher and more grand than the rest, were two volcanic mountains, emitting volumes of smoke. At their feet lay the lake, rippling against the base of the rock on which they stood, and supporting on its calm waters the pretty verdant isles. In every direction there were flowers, either cultivated in large gardens, or growing wild close to the edge. of the water; and so fond were the Mexicans

of those "fair and fragrant gifts of bounteous Heaven," that they even grew them on the flat roofs of their houses.

there were dark

But to the Christian's eye spots in this fair and lovely scene. I mean the temples of their terrible gods. They were built in the form of a pyramid, and were so constructed that the processions of priests and victims ascended by steps winding round the outside, in order that they could be seen by the multitude below, who gazed and trembled, while they worshipped, at the awful ceremonies they knew would be performed on the summit.

A fresh breeze sprang up, and as it swept over the lake, brought the hum of voices from the busy city, and from groups of women seated on the banks with their little dark-skinned children playing round them. The splash of oars in the water from the numberless canoes that skimmed along its surface, and now and then a few notes of the Mexican boatman's plaintive song, reached them. By-and-by Zemaco saw a canoe coming towards the bay, and as it

came nearer, he perceived that it was his friend, old Murelli, a servitor in the temple of Tlaloc. His black skin was full of wrinkles, and contrasted strangely with his hair and beard, which were quite white and very long. He rowed vigorously for such an old man, and soon brought his bark alongside the chinampa. Zemaco and Aguilar had descended the rock, and were at the landing-place ready to receive him. So was Wappy, who had also seen him coming.

The appearance of Murelli was hailed with joy, as he was an old and cherished friend. So they all sat down on the ground in a circle, after the fashion of Indian nations. Metata, too, joined them, bringing the friendly pipe, which she filled and handed to each.

After having smoked some time in silence, Murelli turned to Aguilar and said,—“The aged Murelli should know the good white The hairs of his head were black, and his limbs straight and fleet as those of the mountain roe, when he saw Aguilar in

man.

the tents of the Indian.

Then he was free,

and Aguilar a slave; now, Aguilar is free, and Murelli a slave!"

"I have no recollection of you, my good friend," replied Aguilar.

"Perhaps not," answered Murelli, now speaking in the first person. "I was one among a thousand of my countrymen, therefore you did not note me; particularly, as I seemned not to heed the good words you often spoke. But you stood alone, marked by your white skin; therefore I do not forget you. Yet I will mention a circumstance that will recall me to your recollection. Do you remember, when the young son of the chief who held you in bondage, climbed a high rock to rob an eagle of her young, and that when he had secured his prey and was about to descend, the old bird returned and attacked the robber, pecking at and buffeting him with her huge wings? Do you remember the poor boy's cry of terror, which reaching the valley beneath, made the father wring his hands with anguish; for he knew how futile would be any attempt