There was here an altar, on which the representation of a vine, with clusters of grapes was very elaborately cut, also a statue of an apostle, in wood, very naturally carved, and a conspicuous object.
Entered another church, outside the walls, in the Binondo Quarter. This was not so large as the Cathedral, nor as imposing, but it was crowded with worshippers, principally Indians of the Tagalo tribe. They were in every posture of devotion, telling their beads, and praying with apparent fervor. Indeed they appeared very zealous converts.
At the entrance to this church of the Binondo was exposed the corpse of a child of about seven or eight years. It was fantastically dressed and laid out upon a litter. To the left of this "_memento mori_" which appeared to produce but little effect, were quite a number of matrons, holding very young infants in their arms, awaiting their turn for baptism; on some of these baby's heads they had placed wigs!
It was a strange sight, and one in which the entrances and the exits of the stage of life were exhibited--that dead child, flanked by those newly breathing infants!
Had been told that the ceremony of taking the veil would come off that afternoon at a convent within the city walls, but the information was received too late, for, after hastening to the house of our hospitable friends, with whom we drove at once to the convent, found the ceremony over. The vicinity of the convent was all astir, and we saw a number of ladies, and heard some good music from a fine band, which, although the airs were gay, must, we thought, have had a mournful sound in the ears of the poor renouncing soul, henceforth to be immured within those gloomy walls. But no one appeared to care for her, all was life and gayety without, one would have thought some marriage fête was being celebrated, that those joy notes sounded for the binding of the holiest and dearest tie, had he not known their melody jarred upon heart-strings rudely severed, and ties for ever broken. But she was married, yes, _married_ to the church! Poor Maraquita, thy fate was melancholy, and thy story a sad one, but one too often told of the warm-eyed and passionate maidens of this "land of the sun."