When I came out of the cathedral I stopped at the flower-market near by. It is a modern, ugly, round, iron-roofed affair, but the flowers, the bright birds in their bamboo cages, and, above all, the dazzling air, fling a charm about it. Every modern, ugly thing in Mexico seems easily transmuted. In the old days the Indians brought their flowers straight to the Plaza in canoes by the Viga Canal. An Indian, with what I can only call a "canvas" of white flowers, on moss and wire, about two feet square, was putting in an outline of red and purple stocks. When I asked him what he was going to represent he answered, quite simply, with a look at the church, "_La catedral_." A very young Indian carrying a tiny white coffin on his head passed us, as I spoke to him, and he stopped his work and made the sign of the cross. In the arcades several "Evangelistas," scribes, were surrounded by the unlettered and unwashed--and I found some tattered children, so easily made happy, looking at stands stocked with pink, syrupy drinks and cornucopias filled with ices. But mostly the attention of the crowd was concentrated on a huge magenta and blue Judas who was going up in a blaze of infamy on the corner. A domestic tragedy awaited me when I returned home. One of the servants, while praying before the image of Nuestra Señora del Sagrario in the Church of Corpus Christi, had her pocket-book removed. In it were some coral ear-rings, a lottery ticket, and the remains of her month's wages, just received. She seemed more disturbed by the loss of the lottery ticket than the other articles, and kept saying, "_Quién sabe, Señora?_" and that she had chosen the number 313, after a very precise dream of three white rabbits, one black cat (this latter the same, I fancy, that disturbs the slumbers of Calle Humboldt), followed up by the three children of her aunt, dressed in unaccustomed white. It was _almost_ convincing. As the door of the pantry opened when supper was being served the words "_Tres conejos_" (three rabbits) floated into the dining-room, with an accompanying "_Quién sabe?_" Dia de Pascua, _April 7th_. Happy Easter to my precious mother on this loveliest of Resurrection morns! San Felipe was crowded to suffocation--quite beautiful music in the rolling, gorgeous style, and everybody, even the beggars at the doors, with what they call here a _cara de Pascua_ (Easter face). This is only a word while waiting to motor out to Tlalpan to the Del Rios' for a _dia de campo_. _April 10th._