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 fete 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."

She had loved, her family opposed. Her lover was beneath her in
condition, yet she loved him still the dearer. In these countries, for
a daughter to _think_ of mating without consent of priests and parents,
is sacrilege. She was guilty of it, her proud and haughty mother
had destined Maraquita to be the bride of a wealthy grandee of old
Spain--had disposed of those affections, no longer in Maraquita's power
to give, for they had already been transferred with all the other
treasures of a young and loving heart, to the keeping of a dark-eyed
youth of Manilla. He had been rudely repulsed by her parents, but often
would the cautious twang of his guitar bring her to a midnight
interview. These clandestine meetings were interrupted. Her dark-eyed
lover no longer came, and she was tol