it is a sorrowful day for them
when Saturnine--Don Benigno's black postilion--comes to wheel away their
handiwork.

CHAPTER IV.

A CUBAN 'VELORIO.'

More Still-Life--A Night Wake--Mourners--Dona Dolores--A Funeral
Procession--A Burial.

To be summoned from his couch at all hours of the night is not an
uncommon occurrence with a medical man, but for a follower of 'the
divine art of Apelles' to be thus disturbed in his slumbers is, to say
the least of it, an unreasonable proceeding.

Nevertheless one of us must rise and don his clothes at three A.M.; for
a black varlet has come to inform us that his 'amo,' Don Pancho Agueerro
y Matos, has just died, and that his bereaved family are desirous of
preserving his image on canvas. Nicasio and I, as usual, draw lots for
the questionable privilege of immortalising the late lamented, and as
this time I am the unfortunate winner, it behoves me to gather together
the implements of our craft, attire myself in my darkest garments, and
follow the sombre messenger of death to the house of mourning.

Here a 'velorio,' or night-wake, for the departed is being held. The
reception room is already crowded with the defunct's relatives and
dearest friends, who are seated on chairs and low stools against the
walls. As soon as I appear everybody rises in accordance with the
polite custom of the country, and the chief mourners crowd around me and
give expression to their grief in a variety of ways. Some clasp my neck
and waist; others cling to my legs, and pointing to an adjoining
chamber, they beseech me to restore the late lamented to life--on
canvas.

Encompassed as I am, it is no easy matter to reach the apartment where
the deceased, surrounded by long wax candles and tall silver
candlesticks, lies in state.

Though my duties are confined to the portrayal of the inanimate face
before me, I often pause to take mental as well as pictorial notes of
the surroundings. I observe that the defunct is attired in a suit of
black, which has doubtless been provided by the undertakers; for the
clothes are much too wide for his wasted anatomy, and give him the
appearance of a misfitted dissenting minister. I remark that the dead
man's relatives and friends bear their loss bravely; for some are
endeavouring to drown their sorrows in the cup that cheers, and in
lively conversation. I am reminded of the popular theory that tobacco is
a disinfectant, from the fact that most of the