the morning. Gentlemen who live near us, now venture in towards evening, to talk politics or play at whist; but generally, in the middle of a game, some report is brought in, which drives them back to their houses and families with all possible haste. Señor , a young Spaniard who is living with us, returning here late last night, was challenged by the sentinels at the corner of the street, with the usual "Quien viva?" to which, being in a brown study, he mechanically replied, "Spain!" Fortunately, the officer on duty was a man of common sense and humanity, and instead of firing, warned him to take better care for the future.
Last night, the Archbishop paid a visit to the President, in the convent of San Agustin, to intercede in favor of the pronunciados. The mortars have not yet played against the palace, owing, it is said, to the desire of the General-in-chief to avoid the further effusion of blood.
The tranquillity of the sovereign people during all this period, is astonishing. In what other city in the world would they not have taken part with one or other side? Shops shut, workmen out of employment, thousands of idle people, subsisting. Heaven only knows how—yet no riot, no confusion, apparently no impatience. Groups of people collect on the streets, or stand talking before their doors, and speculate upon probabilities, but await the decision of their military chiefs, as if it were a judgment from heaven, from which it were both useless and impious to appeal.
27th.—"Long live the Mexican Republic! Long
