Now, with all this we expected to see something remarkable, but saw only an ordinary altar-piece, with plain curtains before the miraculous image. It was not a holy-service time, consequently the curtains could not be raised; the padre, however, after sending Frank’s revolver out of the holy place, took us behind the altar and admitted us to a small glass room where the black image stands. It was much less than life size, very black,—painted, however, only by time,—inferior in conception and execution, and wearing long female hair. Ex-voto pictures and gold and silver images and tokens hung upon and around this figure, and in the same chamber were figures of Joseph and Mary, together with angels with cotton-wool wings. It was impossible for me to feel any of the awe with which past generations of Indios have regarded this black Christ. My imagination is not wholly dulled, and I have felt curious sensations before the horrible idols of the Pacific islanders, before the placid features of a gigantic Buddha, in the Hall of Gods at Canton, and before the Jove of the Vatican. I have been in the holy places of many nations, and have felt a sympathy with the worshippers; even the black cliffs of the supposed Sinai have led my thoughts captive. But here in Esquipulas there was nothing but the husk,—nothing solemn, nothing holy; the portrait of Figueroa was the most respectable thing in the church. It was, moreover, no strange thing to pass into the vestry and overhaul the boxes of gold and silver ex-votos; these we could purchase at so much an ounce. They were indeed, as our new friend Dr. José declared, “very curibus.” All parts of the human body, healthy or diseased, many animals, and other objects of human desire or solicitude, were to be found here. To our matter-of-fact Northerners it may be necessary to explain the theory and object of these works of native _platerías_. Medical men and surgeons are almost unknown in the remote regions of Central America, and a sick or injured man, while applying all known remedies, sends also to the nearest _platero_, or silversmith (common enough among the aborigines), and has a model of the affected part made; this token some friend, if the patient be unable to make the journey himself, carries to the mysterious image, whose power to heal he devoutly believes in. It is a faith, rather than a mind, cure. The barren woman in the northern climes, instead of being bowed down with her sad lot, obtains an easy consolation in a pug or lap-dog; but her Indian sister takes a truer view of the purpose of her life, and in her prayerful longing devotes in effigy the coveted offspring,—much as Hannah, the wife of Elkanah, devoted the unbegotten Samuel to the Lord. Like the Hebrew barren wife, the Indian goes up on a pilgrimage to the most sacred shrine, makes her offering, and breathes her prayer. The Eli of the Sanctuary bids her “go in peace.”