We took our passage to Santa Anita and back in a canoe--a mere flat-bottomed box with sloping sides, made of boards put together with wooden pegs.

There was a mat at the stern for us to squat upon, and an awning over our heads.

An old Indian and his son were the crew; and they had long poles, which they set against the banks or the bottom of the shallow canal, and so pushed us along.
Besides these two, an old woman with two little girls got in, as we were starting--without asking our leave, by the way--and sat down at the other end of the canoe.

Of course, the old woman began to busy herself with the two little girls, in the usual occupation of old women here, during their idle moments; and though she left off at our earnest request, she evidently thought us very crotchety people for objecting.
The scene on the canal was a curious one.

There were numbers of boats going up and down; and the Indians, as soon as they caught sight of an acquaintance, began to shout out a long string of complimentary phrases, sometimes in Spanish and sometimes in Mexican: "How is your worship this morning ?" "I trust that I have the happiness of seeing your worship in good health." "If there is anything I can have the honour of doing for your worship, pray dispose of me," and so forth; till they are out of hearing.