brilliant processions are those which
take place on the festivals of Corpus Christi, San Francisco, and Santo
Domingo. A very solemn procession takes place on the 28th of October,
the anniversary of the great earthquake of 1746.

Every morning, at a quarter to nine, the great bell of the cathedral
announces the raising of the host, during the performance of high mass.
Immediately every sound is hushed in the streets and squares. Coachmen
stop the carriages, riders check their horses, and foot-passengers stand
motionless. Every one suspends his occupation or his conversation, and
kneeling down, with head uncovered, mutters a prayer. But scarcely has
the third solemn stroke of the bell ceased to vibrate, when the noise
and movement are resumed; the brief but solemn stillness of the few
preceding moments being thus rendered the more impressive by contrast.
The same incident is renewed in the evening, between six and seven
o'clock, when the bell sounds for the Angelus (Oraciones). The cathedral
bell gives the signal, by three slow, measured sounds, which are
immediately repeated from the belfries of all the churches in Lima. Life
and action are then, as if by an invisible hand, suddenly suspended;
nothing moves but the lips of the pious, whispering their prayers. The
_Oracion_ being ended, every one makes the sign of the cross, and says
to the person nearest him, _Buenas noches_ (Good night). It is regarded
as an act of courtesy to allow another to take precedence in saying
"Good night," and if several persons are together, it is expected that
the eldest or the most distinguished of the group should be the first to
utter the greeting. It is considered polite to request the person next
one to say _Buenas noches_; he with equal civility declines; and the
alternate repetition of "_diga Vm._" (you say it), "_No, Senor, diga
Vm._" (No, Sir, you say it), threatens sometimes to be endless.

The effect produced by the three strokes of the cathedral bell is truly
astonishing. The half-uttered oath dies on the lips of the uncouth
negro; the arm of the cruel Zambo, unmercifully beating his ass, drops
as if paralyzed; the chattering mulatto seems as if suddenly struck
dumb; the smart repartee of the lively Tapada is cut short in its
delivery; the shopkeeper lays down his measure; the artizan drops his
tool; and the monk suspends his move on the draught-board: all, with one
accord, join in the inaudible prayer. Here and there the sight