conflict with our beautiful national
constitution, might disappear. I fear greatly that among the crowd of
mad youth who pursue vain Utopias and heathenish novelties, my desires
are not destined to be fulfilled, and that the contemplation of the
illustrious virtues of the past will remain confined within the same
narrow circle as to-day. What is to be done, my friend? I am afraid that
very soon our poor Spain is doomed to be so disfigured that she will
not be able to recognize herself, even beholding herself in the bright
mirror of her stainless history.

"I do not wish to close this letter without informing you of a
disagreeable event--the unfortunate death of an estimable young man,
well known in Madrid, the civil engineer Don Jose de Rey, a nephew of my
sister-in-law. This melancholy event occurred last night in the garden
of our house, and I have not yet been able to form a correct judgment
regarding the causes that may have impelled the unfortunate Rey to
this horrible and criminal act. According to what Perfecta told me
this morning, on my return from Mundo Grande, Pepe Rey at about twelve
o'clock last night entered the garden of the house and shot himself
in the right temple, expiring instantly. Imagine the consternation and
alarm which such an event would produce in this peaceable and virtuous
mansion. Poor Perfecta was so greatly affected that we were for a
time alarmed about her; but she is better now, and this afternoon we
succeeded in inducing her to take a little broth. We employ every means
of consoling her, and as she is a good Christian, she knows how to
support with edifying resignation even so great a misfortune as this.

"Between you and me, my friend, I will say here that in young Rey's
fatal attempt upon his life, I believe the moving causes to have been an
unfortunate attachment, perhaps remorse for his conduct, and the state
of hypochondriasm into which he had fallen. I esteemed him greatly; I
think he was not lacking in excellent qualities; but he was held in such
disrepute here that never once have I heard any one speak well of him.
According to what they say, he made a boast of the most extravagant
ideas and opinions; he mocked at religion, entered the church smoking
and with his hat on; he respected nothing, and for him there was
neither modesty, nor virtue, nor soul, nor ideal, nor faith--nothing but
theodolites, squares, rules, engines, pick-axes, and spades. What do you
thing of that? To b