A few years ago an enterprising antiquarian spent several days in the neighborhood of Tlamacas, on the very foot of Popocatepetl. Among other places, he examined the cemetery of Tenenepanco, which seems to have been of considerable extent; he opened a great many tombs, and found that the bodies had mostly been buried in a sitting posture, after the manner of many ancient people. A curious circumstance which he discovered was that while the bones were so decayed that they crumbled to dust on being touched, the brain was very often intact and well preserved. He attributed this condition to the high elevation and the peculiar salts in the soil; one brain in particular was in perfect condition, while all the skull was mouldered away. He was in some doubt at first, but an examination showed that there was no mistake; the two lobes were there, and the lines of the blood-vessels were distinctly traceable. The same chemical combination that destroyed the bones preserved the soft tissues of the body.
He took out a great number of vases, cups, marbles, necklaces, toy chariots, kitchen utensils, beads, caricatures of warriors, and many other things illustrating the life of the people who made them. Some of the cups were beautifully decorated, but unfortunately their exposure to the air caused the colors to fade. Ordinary utensils of earthen-ware were very soft when brought to light, and had to be handled with the greatest care, but they hardened by exposure and were solid enough after a few hours.
CARICATURE OF AN AZTEC WARRIOR.
The youths learned that one tribe of Indians was accustomed to worship the great volcano as a deity at the time of the Conquest, and the practice is still maintained. They have caves in the forest on the easterly side of the mountain, and once a year they go there to perform their worship; no stranger is allowed to accompany them, and any one who persists in following them runs the risk of his life. Some years ago, so the story runs, an inquisitive white man followed a party of these Indians into the forest, and was never seen again. What became of him is a mystery; the Indians claimed that they knew nothing of his fate, and there is no positive proof to the contrary.
Frank had an experience of the skill of the Mexican thief during his stay at Amecameca. He had dismounted from his horse in front of the Hotel Ferrocarril, and while he was busy arranging the stirrup on one side of the saddle, a thief crept up and stole the other one. He not only stole the stirrup but the strap that held it, and the youth was obliged to invest in another.
"I'm surprised you've had nothing of the kind before," said the proprietor of the hotel when he heard of the occurrence. "That was the work of a ratero."