st ought to be--wandered among his
flock, exhorting, comforting, admonishing and cheering them; while the
_Hermandades_, a religious brotherhood, headed by their color-bearer,
upon whose banner the effigy of the Virgin, their patron saint, was
emblazoned, walking two by two in procession in the long gowns of their
order--some red, some black, some white--and each carrying a lighted
taper, traversed the plazas and paraded the streets the whole night. The
glimmering light of the tapers falling upon these dusky shrouded forms
in the gloom of this awful night, the melancholy refrain of the prayers
which they chanted as they passed through the awestruck city, the
lessening glimpses of the flickering tapers as the train passed solemnly
by into some distant street,--all served rather to intensify than to
tranquillize the alarm.

The excitement and agitation of the people were so great that no one
thought of going to bed: those who, like ourselves, went neither to the
country nor to the open squares, sat in their windows and compared their
experiences or gathered news from every passer-by; for they feared to
separate from their families, lest a worse shock might overtake some one
of them apart from the rest. Besides this, the danger in the streets was
greater than at home, because of their narrowness and the likelihood of
the walls on either side toppling over upon pedestrians.

The night had been beautifully clear, and the moon brilliant as it is
only in the tropics, but toward midnight the weather became cloudy and a
drizzling rain fell at intervals, driving us within doors between one
and two o'clock, but only to lie down fully dressed upon our beds, with
lights burning and doors left open, so as the more readily to facilitate
our escape if necessary. One or two slight shocks recurred during the
night, but morning dawned at last, finding us unhurt; and with returning
day our courage too returned, so _darkness_ "doth make cowards of us
all." It was then ascertained that the cathedral had sustained some
slight damage; the image of the Virgin in the church of the Candelaria
had been thrown to the ground and broken to pieces; and the National
Pantheon, the observatory of the new university and other public
buildings, with many houses, had been injured, but none thrown down and
no lives lost.

No one, however, could dwell long in lamentation over these accidents
when the news reached us the next morning of the terrible calamity