with in some parts of Normandy. There was a child dressed simply and solely with a strip of wool about the middle, and bearing a wooden cross, who represented John the Baptist; and led by the hand of this one another in a blue robe, bearing a silver cross, who represented the infant Jesus. There might be something a trifle grotesque to sophisticated eyes in seeing these sacred infants refreshed now and then as they were with gingerbread; but to these simple people the impression was not marred by any such sense of the incongruous. A lovely young girl of eighteen, who, in addition to the pure white dress which all the rest wore, had a long veil reaching to her feet, represented the Virgin Mary; and as the procession turned from the Mass she bent low, and each child in passing threw a handful of rose-leaves upon her. Finally we all went to the little church, where there was a good organ and really excellent music. Every where along the streets and in the church there were banners and streamers, dressed with flowers, on which were many religious mottoes, these being chiefly in honor of the Virgin, who was described by many endearing names, the favorite one being "Star of the Sea." I have often witnessed these Catholic fêtes on the Continent of Europe, and remarked that, whoever be the saint whose day is celebrated, it is always the Virgin who receives the homage. Nor could I help connecting the faith of the Trouville fishermen in the "Star of the Sea" hovering over them, and the faith of all these peasants in the existence of a tender Mother in Heaven, with that general aspect of happiness which pervaded all their performances. Their religion, at any rate, made them serene and cheerful. Had they by some subtle heart-logic gained that for which Channing strove with the dark and stony dogmas of Puritanism? Were they reaching, by some blind way unknown to our colder Anglo-Saxon brains, that mystic glimpse of the great Love which Theodore Parker caught above all negation, and expressed in his prayers to the "Father and Mother in Heaven?" At any rate, oh my earnest but all too sombre brothers! I warn you that people who believe in the supremacy in Heaven of an all-loving woman will never be won from that belief by a creed which enthrones in her place a being less tender and beautiful.

One day during my stay we were all astonished to find that a party of regular gipsies had pitched their wagons and their rude tents near the beach. We had indeed seen notices in the Paris papers of a band of Bohemians who were visiting various parts of France, but were not prepared for their sudden invasion of our quiet shore. The word gipsy can convey to no one who has not seen one out of America any conception of the strange wild character of these people. The men are tall, and, if they

were not so filthy, would be fine-looking. They are very dark, the complexion being sooty, and the hair very long, black, and curly. The women are hard-featured and yellow, and these had hardly any clothing at all above their waists. Nearly all of the children, both boys and girls, were entirely naked. Two of the larger girls, about fourteen years of age, were habited in loose, thin night-gowns, open in front, and spotted all over with red cabalistic signs. They understood no French, but did understand German; they spake to each other, however, in a language of their own. While they were in our neighborhood one of their women died in childbed, and a sister-gipsy at once took the child, and generally sat at the door of her tent nursing it at the same time with her own. The younger members of the party begged piteously for sous, and went about among the gentlemen and ladies on the beach, prostrating their naked bodies on the ground, and audibly kissing the ground under their feet. One day the entire party went down to the public beach, and were preparing to go in, men and women, puris naturalibus, when the authorities interfered, and they were with much difficulty persuaded to use houses and dresses. It was evident, however, that they had money enough. I do not doubt that we were witnessing, in the passage westward of that gipsy band, the momentary recurrence of that which in pre-historic ages was the normal migration of a race destined to act a most important part, indirectly, in the destiny of Europe. If any one will look carefully over the ethnological map of Europe, he will find that these swarthy people, who came possibly from Armenia, who were subsequently represented by the Basques of Spain, are now the fringe of all Western Europe-occupying the western coasts of Spain, France, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland. They formed all the dark pigment of Western Europe, and but for intermixture with them we Americans, English, and French, would be all blonde, blue-eyed Germans. That which makes the Anglo-Saxon roam in Africa or explore America is his gipsy blood-or, at least, it is that blood whose dwarfbranch has produced the ubiquitous realm of Rommany. Every developed fruit implies a possible crab of the same species. So we must fain conclude that yon ugly roamers are our poor relations.

At last I must leave Trouville. So sweet has it become that I am almost ready to weep at parting with it. My rooms (though cheap) have grown dear to me. At that moment some sprite advised me to shed my tears in the form of red ink, and the result is before my reader in this little record of days passed in the pleasantest and most beautiful of all the sea-side places to which Fate has been thus far kind enough to send me.

it appeared the simplest thing in the world for the attacking force to pass along the house-tops, and, by bridging over the narrow streets, thus overrun the city without touching the barricades. Doubtless they might have done so, if it was in the nature of any Mexican army to move promptly. But there is always a mañana in every Mexican transaction. Five days passed-it was in the night of the 8th of March that the Liberals flanked us-but nothing further happened. Meantime the Imperialists were not idle. Earth-works were thrown up to support the barricades; trenches were dug to prevent charges of cavalry; and certain prominent positions, which would of necessity become points d'appuis, were as strongly fortified as circumstances would admit. On the 14th of March our positions (as indicated in the accompanying plan) stood thus: The whole of Querétaro proper and the Cerro de la Campana were in the hands of the Imperial forces. The mountains of San Gregorio, San Pablo, La Trinidad, and Carretas, the hill of Simatario, and the suburb of San Luis (something or other), which was only separated from Querétaro by a narrow creek dignified by the name of a river, were in the hands of the Liberals. We held the puente, or bridge, which spanned the stream, and also retained possession of a range of white buildings immediately on the other side of the

any force that attempted to attack the puente. The houses on each side of the river were converted into breast-works by a very simple process, which both armies alike adopted. The adobes of the side walls were pulled out, and openings were thus made leading through house after house, by a sort of subterranean passage, for miles, while the rear walls formed readymade earth-works, easily pierced for sharpshooters or broken through for cannon. It was by this plan of tunneling that the American troops, during the Mexican war, captured Monterey. The Mexicans learned it from us.

The river boundary of the city being thus rendered comparatively secure attention could be turned to other parts. On the opposite side was the Alameda, a small inclosed park and carriage-drive. Here the Imperial cavalry, under Mejia, were stationed, the open ground between the Alameda and the hill of Simatario being especially favorable for cavalry operations. The northwest boundary was fully protected by the Cerro de la Campana, which we had already fortified in expectation of attack; and the southeast side was defended by the convent of La Cruz, or Santa Cruz, which was virtually the key of the whole city. This was the point surrendered nine weeks afterward by Lopez, and it thus has an historical interest. Imagine Union Square covered in by a jumble

of buildings, with walls four or five feet thick, and roofs of equal solidity, the buildings all connected together by a labyrinthine chain of passages and courts-and there you have the Cruz. Place it on a hill commanding the whole city and the road to Mexico, and confronting the hill of Carretas, where the headquarters of the Liberal commander-in-chief were-and you have its position. A ramble over the roof of the Cruz was like walking over a succession of great tubular boilers partially imbedded in lava. One moment you looked in through a cupola upon altars and crucifixes and gorgeous church furniture, left religiously untouched by a soldiery who would rob their brothers' graves; turn to the right, and you got a glimpse of a corral, where a hundred or two mules were loudly braying for the forage it was hard to procure for them; a step or two further led to one of the wards of the hospital, where gaunt patients were wandering about, wrapped up in sheets, and destitute of all other clothing or bedding; turn to the left, and you were among confessionals and candlesticks once more; move to the right again, and you looked down on all the filth and confusion of a barrack-yard. There were several small pieces of cannon mounted on the roof, and any number of adobe walls for sharp-shooters.

These, then, were the respective positions of the two forces on the 14th of March, the day with which the present article has to deal.

In all the preparations for defense Maximilian was foremost. He seemed to be absolutely elated at the prospect of some decisive engagement. He gave up for hospital purposes the house he occupied, and thenceforth took up his quarters in the Cruz in a room as mean as any New York tenement-house can show. Night and day he busied himself riding round the lines and studying plans of attack and defense with the intensity of a Vauban. His Generals remonstrated with him on the freedom with which he exposed his life, and he only laughed at their fears.

tion.

Escobedo moved up a strong column of infantry and took it, and thence poured a raking fire into the Cruz itself. Maximilian stood on the roof eagerly watching the fight, and utterly heedless of shot or shell. A 24-pounder exploded within ten feet of him. His staff threw themselves flat on the ground to escape the scattering fragments, but he alone stood upright, sacrificing no whit of his six foot one, and when all was over merely remarked, "It's getting warm, gentlemen," and moved on. Meanwhile the Liberal sharp-shooters from the Panteon Church were picking off every officer who showed himself on the roof of the Cruz. A brave young German captain, who but the moment before had been speaking to the Emperor, was shot through the head and fell dead at his feet. The carnage was getting terrible. In an hour a hundred dead and wounded had been carried down from the Cruz. The order was at last given to charge and take the church. The first battalion of the line-an almost wholly Mexican regiment, but led by foreigners, dashed forward, and without waiting to receive their charge Escobedo's troops turned and fled. The Panteon thus regained was never again lost till Lopez sold it.

All this time the shelling of the city continued. Riding through the Plaza, or principal square, I caught sight of a nest of half a dozen Americans sheltering under the massive portico of the Portal. They were embargoed teamsters, as brave fellows as ever trod shoe-leather in their own country and cause, but naturally unwilling to be shot in some one else's fight. "You had better come in here," they shouted; "this is the safest place!"

"But consider, Señor," urged little Mejia, "what might be the consequence. If you got killed we should all fall to fighting to see who was to be the next President."

At ten o'clock on the morning of March 14 the Liberals attacked all sides of the city simultaneously. On the mountain of San Gregorio their artillery was at such short range that, had they chosen, they could have thrown a shell clean over the city into their opposite camp on the Simatario. For six hours they shelled the city without cessation, and under cover of the fire attempted to force a passage. At the Cruz they nearly succeeded. Marquez, by a strange oversight, had neglected to occupy the little church of the Panteon, or Cemetery, which really formed one of the outworks of the posiVOL. XXXVI.-No. 211.-C

city eighteen shells had fallen in the house. This may be taken as an index of the severity of the bombardment. Yet the capacity of Mexican architecture for receiving explosive visitors is such that the actual damage done was almost nominal.