a volume! The Baron de having just left this for your part of the world, you will learn by him the last intelligence of it and of us.
As there is a want of rain, the Virgin de los Remedios was brought into Mexico, but as there is still a slight ripple on the face of the lately troubled waters, she was carried in privately—for all reunions of people are dreaded at this juncture. I had just prepared pieces of velvet and silk to hang on the balconies, when I found that the procession had gone by a back street after sunset.
I went lately to visit the nuns of the Encarnacion, to inquire how they had stood their alarms, for their convent had been filled with soldiers, and they had been in the very heart of the firing. I was welcomed by a figure covered from head to foot with a double black crape veil, who expressed great joy at seeing me again, and told me she was one of the madres who received us before. She spoke with horror of the late Revolution, and of the state of fear and trembling in which they had passed their time; soldiers within their very walls, and their prayers interrupted by volleys of cannon. Thanks to the intercession of the Virgin, no accident had occurred; but she added, that had the Virgin of los Remedies been brought in sooner, these disorders might never have taken place.
I went from thence to the convent of Santa Teresa, where I saw no one, but discoursed with a number of voices, from the shrill treble of the old Madre Priora, to the full, cheerful tones of my friend, the Madre A. There is something rather awful in
