Sunday, Oct. 4.
In the church of the Rosary is a beautiful ceremony. The music is lovely; the wind instruments, in certain parts of the mass, most effective, and the whole one of the most solemn services at which we have assisted.
The sermon is delivered with such grace and unction that we could but realize the truth of that saying of Charles V., that Spanish is the language in which to speak to God! So grand, so sonorous! And there is something in the grave dignity of the Spanish priest which makes him seem the perfection of ecclesiastical character. We are all struck with the decorum of the people in the churches, the quiet and devotion; none of the running in and out and the familiarity with holy things which in Italy makes one see that the people regard the church as their father's house, in which they take liberties. Here, it is alone the house of God, as is seen in the reverential manner and careful costume. All wear black, and not even is a lace mantilla usual, but the Spanish mantilla of modest silk. The men are alike reverential, and nowhere have we seen so many men in church, particularly at night.
To-day we hear the good news that the government of the city is taken from the hands of the junta and given into the care of the former military governor of Cadiz, in conjunction with the admiral of the fleet. This is received with great favor by the people of moderate opinion of both sides, as putting a stop to extreme measures. They have countermanded the destruction of the two old churches, the Franciscan and the Scalzi; of the last-named they tell a most extraordinary story to-day. Yesterday the destroyers had knocked down a portion of the thick old wall. This morning it was found rebuilt as if by invisible hands, with the same heavy masonry, as strong as before, and even the white plaster upon the outside dry and barely to be distinguished from the rest of the building. Everybody runs to look at it. The people cry "a miracle," and say that the Blessed Virgin, whose feast it is to-day, had a hand in it.
Monday, Oct. 5.
We go for the last time to the shops, and to hear our last mass in San Antonio; for to-morrow we leave beautiful Cadiz and the dear friends who have made our stay so delightful. The political horizon to-day is a little clearer. In consequence of some outrages upon priests and churches one man has been banished to Ceuta, and large placards are upon the streets threatening with like punishment every one who insults a priest or injures a church. The banished man had harangued the mob, assuring them that a Dominican father in the convent of that order had some instruments of torture, formerly used in the Inquisition, and that he applied them to his penitents. The unthinking mob, guided by him, rushed to search the convent, broke the church windows, and not finding what was promised them, turned their fury upon the man who had deceived them.
In the war of 1835, when Saragossa began the work of burning the monasteries and murdering the monks, Cadiz gave her monks five hours to get away, and armed guards saved the monasteries. To be sure, the populace burned the libraries and furniture; but as Cadiz was then more moderate than her sister cities, she will not now be less kind than then. How impossible to believe, in looking out upon a city so smiling and so lovely, that evil passions should lurk in it anywhere!
To Be Continued.