"In these robes they are buried; and one would think that if any human being can ever leave this world without a feeling of regret, it must be a nun of the Santa Teresa, when, her privations in this world ended, she lays down her blameless life, and joins the pious sisterhood who have gone before her; dying where she has lived, surrounded by her companions, her last hours soothed by their prayers and tears, sure of their vigils for the repose of her soul, and, above all, sure that neither pleasure nor vanity will ever obliterate her remembrance from their hearts."--_Life in Mexico_, vol. ii. p. 9.
[70] "All Mexicans at present, men and women, are engaged in what are called the _desagravios_, a public penance performed at this season in the churches during thirty-five days. The women attend church in the morning, no men being permitted to enter, and the men in the evening, when women are not admitted. Both rules are occasionally broken. The penitence of the men is most severe, their sins being no doubt proportionably greater than those of the women; though it is one of the few countries where they suffer for this, or seem to act upon the principle, that 'if all men had their deserts, who would escape whipping?'
"To-day we attended the morning penitence at six o'clock, in the church of San Francisco, the hardest part of which was their having to kneel for about ten minutes with their arms extended in the form of a cross, uttering groans, a most painful position for any length of time. It was a profane thought, but I dare say so many hundreds of beautifully-formed arms and hands were seldom seen extended at the same moment before. Gloves not being worn in church, and many of the women having short sleeves, they were very much seen.
"But the other night I was present at a much stranger scene, at the discipline performed by the men, admission having been procured for us by certain means, _private but powerful_. Accordingly, when it was dark, enveloped from head to foot in large cloaks, and without the slightest idea of what it was, we went on foot through the streets to the church of San Agustin. When we arrived, a small side door apparently opened of itself, and we entered, passing through long vaulted passages, and up steep winding stairs, till we found ourselves in a small railed gallery looking down directly upon the church. The scene was curious. About one hundred and fifty men, enveloped in cloaks and sarapes, their faces entirely concealed, were assembled in the body of the church. A monk had just mounted the pulpit, and the church was dimly lighted, except where he stood in bold relief, with his gay robes and cowl thrown back, giving a full view of his high, bald forehead and expressive face.