‘Every Sunday morning, the prisoners confined at Puebla were compelled to attend mass, in chains, at one of the churches. The floors of all the religious establishments of note in Mexico are of stone or marble, without seats of any kind, and those in attendance must either kneel or stand during the ceremonies. In the present instance, the Texans were paraded in rows before the altar, and compelled to fall upon their knees while mass was said; but they were not obliged to go through all the little forms and ceremonies which the Catholic Church in Mexico exacts of its votaries, such as crossing themselves, smiting their breasts, and other outward observances. Well drilled, however, were they in all the minutiæ of these demonstrations; and in addition, one of the jokers, who had acted as the prosecuting attorney at San Cristobal, and who was a great mimic, taught them a few original ‘extras’ and ‘fancy touches,’ which he had ingrafted upon the regular Catholic ceremonials. So well had he disciplined his brother prisoners, that they could go through all his ritual with as much promptness and precision as could the best military company in existence go through its simplest manœuvres.
‘On arriving at the church, and after kneeling in front of the altar, the well-drilled Texans awaited the usual signal from the officiating priest to commence. There probably was not a Catholic among them; yet the assumed air of grave devotion to be seen in their faces would have done credit to the most rigid of that creed. At the given signal, and at the proper time, the chained prisoners would cross themselves with all seeming humility, closely imitating every motion of the priest and of the Mexicans around them; but instead of stopping with their Catholic neighbors, they wound up by placing the right thumb to the tip of their noses, and then, with a mock gravity which might have drawn a smile from an Egyptian mummy, circled the fingers about, and all this directly in the face of the officiating priest, and without a smile upon their countenances. When the proper time came for again crossing themselves, the mischievous leader of the Texans would pass the word for his men to ‘come the double compound action,’ as he called it. This resembled the first movement, with the exception that it was more complicated and more mysterious to the surrounding Mexicans. After the right hand had gone its usual round, from forehead to breast and from shoulder to shoulder, the thumb again settled on the tip of the nose; but this time the left thumb was joined to the little finger of the right hand, and then commenced a series of fancy gyrations with all the fingers, the like of which was probably never before seen in a Catholic church. Sam Weller, I believe, or if not he, some modern philosopher of his school, defines the movement I have just described as meaning something like ‘This may be all very true, but we don’t believe a word of it.’ What the Mexicans thought of it, or whether they noticed it or not, I am unable to say: it may be that they considered it as simply ‘a way’ the Texans had, and thought no more of it. Such is the story told of the pranks played by the prisoners confined in Puebla.’
We must here end our notice of this amusing book. It will be found highly entertaining, and to contain also much information concerning the character of the country through which Mr. Kendall passed. It will attain a wide popularity, for it is decidedly the best and most readable book of the season. ••• Since the foregoing was placed in type, we learn from Mr. Kendall’s journal, the well known New-Orleans ‘Picayune,’ that the tyrant Salazar, whose cruelties are recorded in preceding extracts, met recently with an awful death. He escaped from prison at Santa Fé, and fled to the woods, where he was killed and scalped by the Indians, and his body left a prey to wild beasts. Just retribution!
Address and Poem, delivered before the Mechanic Apprentice’s Library Association on the twenty-second of February. By Frederick W. Lincoln, Jr., and George Coolidge. Boston: The Association.
The inculcations of both these performances are excellent; and in a literary point of view, they are also highly creditable to their authors. Mr. Lincoln supports the necessity and dignity of labor with unanswerable argument and felicitous illustrations. Much, says he, in a few segregated sentences, ‘has been written, with truth and eloquence, by great minds, upon the dignity of labor; but it is the dignity of the laborer which is the vital point that demands attention. Labor or industry needs no apology, no advocates; it is the very instinct of our being, and one of the first to develop itself; it is only when performed in a peculiar way, or associated with a particular class, that it is considered disreputable. How is this evil to be remedied? Not by assuming a superiority, but by attaining to it. You have it in your power to make the profession of a mechanic as honorable as any avocation in life. The dignity of a profession depends upon the character of those who are in its ranks. If the individual is low or mean, no occupation can confer upon him respectability or regard. On the other hand, no useful employment, however trivial, in the social state, can degrade him who faithfully performs its duties. It is not always the men of genius, those gifted with extraordinary natural endowments, who are the greatest benefactors of our race, or who enjoy in a greater degree personal happiness themselves. Washington and Franklin were not men of genius, as the world understands that term. It was by probity, industry, perseverance, a well-strung nerve, and an iron will, that they conquered the obstacles before them, and acquired that true greatness which has made their names preëminent among the famous of earth, and their example the inspiration of American youth. Circumstances may do something for us; we can do more for ourselves. We must have faith, we must be in earnest.’ The healthful American spirit which pervades the ‘Address,’ characterizes not less prominently the poem of Mr. Coolidge. A passage from this performance, commencing ‘List to the Psalm of Labor!’ speaks of what we intended our readers should have had an opportunity to ‘hearken to;’ but the tyranny of space is despotic.
Drawings and Tintings. By Alfred B. Street. pp. 48. Albany: W. C. Little. New-York: Burgess, Stringer and Company and M. Y. Beach.
We cannot aver that we greatly affect the title given by Mr. Street to the collection of Sketches from Nature which we find upon our table; but for the sketches themselves, as our readers well know, we have a cordial affection. Many of them have already been encountered in our pages; and after winning cordial admiration in the journals of the day, they have been arrested as ‘fugitives’ by their author, brought home, and bound together, preparatory to receiving sentence at the hands of that many-headed monster, the Public. As a careful and minute observer of nature, in every phase of season and change of the hours; from the wide and comprehensive general view, to the most delicate scanning of the aspect of the lowliest shrub or flower; we scarcely know our author’s superior, after Bryant. Our readers, however, are so well acquainted with the marked peculiarities of Mr. Street’s style, that we shall content ourselves with a single Daguerreotype sketch from ‘The School-house:’
‘A picture of soft beauty is the scene
When painted by the sinking summer sun
In tints of light and shade; but winter’s gloom