REMARKS DURING A FIVE YEARS’ RESIDENCE IN BUENOS AYRES. (continued 3)

The suppression of the monasteries, in 1822, caused a great deal of discussion. There were those of the well-inclined who were not without apprehensions, and seemed disposed to let the presumed evil continue, rather than risk a change. The government must have felt their own strength, when they determined to reform so influential a portion of the church, having to encounter the prejudices and fanaticism of those grown grey in the old order of things, who regarded meddling with the church as little short of heresy. The friars were, in a manner, domesticated with the first families of Buenos Ayres, and ever received as welcome guests. They must (at least, some of them) have felt great reluctance to quit the convents, in which they had expected to remain for life, and regret at parting with the attire of their order. Discontent was engendered, at times, almost amounting to threats, which found vent in a conspiracy, ending in the banishment of Taglé, its author; and another more serious one, of the 19th March, 1823. The result of these abortive attempts served to confirm the power and influence of the existing government. The majority of the people, I should conceive, thought an alteration necessary in the clergy: many of that majority had visited Europe, and became divested of the narrow policy the Spaniards had taught them.

Elderly ladies, of all countries, are allowed to be more pious than the rest of society. The friars in Buenos Ayres found them staunch advocates of their cause.

To counteract the strong feeling that existed for the friars, the press of the day had recourse to ridicule, as well as to argument: a publication called the “Llobera,” teemed with paragraphs and anecdotes, often so indecent that it injured the cause it proposed to serve. This print was soon laid aside. In the mean time, the suppression gradually went on; and all that now remains of the monasteries of Buenos Ayres are the Franciscans. The buildings will soon perhaps be converted to other uses. The ejected friars, throwing off their habit, assumed a clerical half-dress, very similar to that of our clergymen; and the Dominicans, Mercedites, &c. are now met in the streets, as simple citizens, no longer wearing the livery of the founders of those orders. Three years ago, groupes of friars were continually about the church doors, in coffee-houses, and the streets, segar smoking, apparently under no church restrictions: when a reform was agitated, they were more strict, and the convent gates were closed at a certain hour. The Franciscans, who yet keep together, are rarely to be seen abroad, except the messengers, or lay brothers, who are, in dress and figure, no bad copy of their prototype, in The Duenna.

If the original rules of monastic institutions were put in full force, few claimants would be found for the honour of entering them. A suitable provision has been made for those who have left their convents; the government appropriating the lands attached for the benefit of the state. Time appears, in some measure, to have healed the wounds of the discontented, though there are some who pretend the flame is smothered, and not burnt out; “Give it vent,” they say, “and ’twill blaze again.”

There are two convents for NUNS, St. Juan and St. Catalina, each containing about thirty. The regulations of St. Juan’s are very rigid: they wear clothing of the coarsest nature, and the beds, and every other accommodation, are of the same description. No one is permitted to see them, except their nearest relations, and that very rarely. Heavens! how ardent must be that devotion, that can voluntarily embrace such a life! A female, on her first entrance, may leave at the end of a year; but, after that time, she is professed, and must conform to the rules. Very few, I believe, take advantage of this option. Such is the force of religious enthusiasm, that they gladly bid farewell to the world, wishing no father, mother, lover, friend, but their God and Saviour.

At St. Catalina’s they are not so strict, being allowed indulgences unknown to the self-immolated of St. Juan.

I have never seen any of the fair inhabitants of these convents; but when the nuns of Buenos Ayres have formed the subject of conversation, I have eagerly listened, expecting to hear something of disappointed love, or confidence betrayed. Alas it was in vain: the ladies of St. Juan and Catalina are nuns from the dull routine of religion, with one exception only, if my information is true; and advantage was not taken to quiz my avidity for nunnery news. The tale runs, that St. Juan’s convent does contain, a victim of “despised love.” Her lover, an officer, of course—for what men in trade ever think of love?—joined the army in Peru, and married another. At the age of seventeen, the fair, betrayed girl fearlessly took the veil, chiding her weeping mother for her cruelty, nay, sinfulness, at shewing such affliction for what constituted her daughter’s only happiness. An account of the ceremony was given me;—but who shall take the field in description, after the glowing details we have read in romances? and especially at second-hand.

The majority of the nuns in these two convents are aged, having received very few additions, lately, of the youthful class. Has man, false man, become more constant, no longer striving to break the heart of the doting fair one or, are the ladies less sensitive, preferring, at all hazards, this bustling world to the cloister’s gloom, exclaiming with Sheridan’s Clara,

In the most minute affairs of the Romish church, there is a formula, which, having antiquity for its basis, imposes upon the mind of its followers; and, as regards a conventual life, the first dawn of such a wish, even before the parties quit their parents’ house, amounts to a ceremony. In the year 1822, my curiosity was gratified by an exhibition of this sort. I was invited to a house, in which a lady, about to become a nun, was receiving the last farewells of her friends. It was evening; and it was with difficulty that I gained admittance from the crowd outside. The lady was seated in the sala; arrayed in her best attire; her head and neck decorated with jewellery; such is the fashion, this being a contrast to the dress she was about to assume. Music was heard; and it seemed more like a party met for gaiety, than one in which the afterpiece was to be so serious—the taking from the world a fellow-creature. The lady—I was going to write, victim—was all smiles; no regrets were apparent in her bosom; she received the adieus of her friends with calm composure. A friar, attached perhaps to the convent, was in the room: in taking her final leave, she was escorted by him and her relatives. With a firm step, bowing to all around, she quitted the room. In passing our party (consisting of several Englishmen), I thought she eyed us particularly; we bowed to her; and the door closed upon us. That same night, I am informed, she was conducted to the gloomy walls of St. Juan, and has since taken the veil. The lady appeared about nineteen or twenty years of age; she was not handsome, but the occasion rendered her very interesting.

The first RELIGIOUS PROCESSION I had ever seen, was that of St. Rosario, in Buenos Ayres; and it is not possible I can forget the impression it made upon me. Those details which, when a school-boy, I dwelt upon with such delight, were now, in my manhood, brought full before my eyes, losing nothing of their interest; on the contrary, I found that imagination does not always come up to the reality. The churches of France and Belgium I had visited with far different emotions: Spain, and Spanish connexions, thought I, contain all that can fix the attention of the Protestant inquirer, who wishes to see the Catholic church the same in the nineteenth as in the fourteenth century. Spain clings to it; with its many imperfections, as a fond lover to an idolized mistress; else they would not have suffered foreigners to overrun their soil. What would the heroes of Roncevalles and Pavia have said to those events?

The figure of St. Rosario, full-robed, was carried by soldiers, on a stage. The Virgin, on another stage, followed, flanked by numbers of the faithful carrying large lighted candles; these were chiefly old men, and boys. The host, and attendant priests wafting incense towards this sacred emblem, formed a conspicuous part; with groups of friars chaunting their prayers, in which they are joined by the crowd. A huge cross, apparently of silver, and borne by friars, precedes the whole. A small band of violinists attend, and accompany the singing: they reminded me of our itinerant musicians, that serenade us of an evening in London. The military band has a better effect. A halt is made, at intervals, at the corners of streets, or opposite temporary altars, which the devotion of the pious has raised in front of their houses: they consist of tables, covered with white linen, with small images of Jesus, the Virgin, crosses, &c. &c. and a mirror, garnished with flowers and other decorations. Soldiers march in front and rear. They, as well as every one else near the procession, are uncovered; and when the ceremonies of the host are going on, all must kneel. The houses display silks, tapestry, and other finery, arranged in front, in the streets through which the cavalcade passes; and the balconies are filled with spectators. The saints and his dumb attendants (the images), are finally deposited at their head-quarters, the church. A great quantity of females are always to be seen at those exhibitions, fervently ejaculating their “Ave-Marias.”

These processions vary but very little, except that I thought there was more of preparation, banners, &c. in that of St. Nicholas, on the 6th December. The streets were profusely adorned, road and foot-path strewed with flowers, leaves, and boughs. Small cannon were placed on the pavement near the church, the firing of which, and the discharge of rockets and other fire-works, gave notice that the saint and his holy attendants were about to leave the church. Gentlemen, both civil and military, of the first families, at times, bear banners in the procession. These days being kept as holidays, a vast concourse stroll about the decorated streets before the attraction of the day begins. The windows, house-tops, and benches ranged near the houses, are occupied by females, the lovely persons of some of whom might move an anchorite. A scene so new has almost upset my sober reasoning; and I have looked at the host, friars, crosses, music, and all the et ceteras, till I could nearly fancy that time had rolled back, and found me living when the Catholic church knew no rival.

The feast of St. Nicholas, in December, 1824, was but a mockery of its former splendour: however, the church of San Nicholas was illuminated, and looked very pretty; and we had some bonfires, music, and fire-works. A procession was to have taken place, but the government would not pay the expense, and the church, in its present reduced state, cannot afford it. The devotees muttered their Ave-Marias and maledictions; but, as St. Nicholas did not interfere in their behalf, all went off quietly.

The feast of Corpus Christi is another grand day. The whole body of friars, with banners and flags of their different orders, mustered on the occasion, and, before the suppression of the monasteries, they constituted a decent battalion. The dress of the friars differs in nothing to what we find represented in England,—the cowl and crown, with the small cross suspended. The processions, in the course of the year, used to be very numerous. Since the dispersion of the friars, they are somewhat shorn of their beams; and, by-and-by, the sight of a friar may be a curiosity. To decorate the churches on these occasions, the priests borrow candlesticks, silks, &c. of their neighbours.

During Lent, sermons are preached on an evening, in various churches. The congregations are numerous, and the females always kneel. The custom of allowing males to be seated in church, while the other sex are upon their knees, appears strange.

As the theatre is situated opposite the Merced church, during the sermons of the Lent evenings, some of the congregation may be seen wandering from the church to the theatre.

In passion week, there are various masses and sermons.

The afternoon and evening of Holy Thursday bring forth all the world into the streets: every house appears deserted. The concourse is astonishing: the great proportion are females. A rule of Catholic creed enjoins them to visit seven churches on this day; and this they religiously perform, stopping but a few minutes in each church, just time enough to kneel, and utter a short prayer. The governor and his aides-de-camp, likewise, go to seven churches. A crowd of both sexes assemble round the doors, especially of the Cathedral, absolutely blocking up the road way, kneeling, counting beads, and in earnest prayer.

In 1821, I saw images and other insignia of the church at the corners of the principal streets; prisoners ironed, with their guards, soliciting charity; small tables, with virgins, Jesus, and crosses: but these customs have much fallen off. Near a church, those altars are still raised on Holy Thursday, and people press around, to kiss the garments of the “mother of God.” Near St. Juan’s church, in 1824, I observed a pretty design of this nature upon a small scale, and envied the kisses it received from some charming girls. On this night, too, the military bands muster in their best dresses, with drums muffled, and other marks of mourning. They advance across the Plaza, and through the streets, at a solemn pace, playing music even more melancholy than the Dead March in Saul, preceded by one of the soldiers carrying, on a pole, a balloon with transparencies, and a light inside, which makes them look a counterpart of those that paraded London streets, a few years ago, from the lottery offices. During this period of mourning, both sexes are clothed in black. This continual crowd in the streets, and the peculiar church attire, serve to attract one’s attention; it is so much the reverse of our English mode: we go to church in all the colours of the rainbow.

In addition to other observances of Holy Thursday the flags of vessels belonging to Catholic nations are half-masted, yards crossed, and at the Fort, likewise, they remain till near twelve o’clock on the Saturday, at which hour cannon are fired, yards squared, the flag run up, bells rung, and shops are opened, for the joyful resurrection. But the bells do not give us those inspiring peals that we hear from our churches of St. Martin’s, St. Clement’s, and from the far-famed Bow bells: here, they are an inharmonious jangle. Our churches, so superb in architectural splendour, would astonish those gentlemen who fancy an Englishman’s taste only leads him towards vending merchandize, and receiving the proceeds.

Good Friday passes as a solemn day of prayer and mourning.

The burning of Judas is a grotesque affair. Stuffed figures, like our old Guys, are suspended from ropes in the middle of the street, charged with combustibles and fire-works. On the night of Saturday, they are fired, and Mr. Judas is blown up, amidst the shouts of the multitude. This, like our Guy Fawkes, has much fallen off, and may soon drop altogether. The newspapers have designated it barbarism. I am not for meddling with the sports of the lower orders, if they do not offend decency. The quarrel with Captain O’Brien happened about Easter, 1821; and one of the Judases of that period was observed in something of the dress of a naval officer: report said, it was meant for Captain O’Brien. It was ordered to be taken down. The people took very little interest in that dispute. When it was at its height, the Captain passed through a crowd opposite the College church, and they treated him with great respect, making way for the “English Commandant” to pass. “We may all suffer in this business,” said our captain to one of his countrymen; “but we shall, if extremes are resorted to, be gloriously revenged.”

The holy or passion week in 1825 passed off much as usual. On the Thursday evening the ladies crowded the churches and streets in their black attire; and being a fine moonlight night, the scene (to me at least) was very interesting; and although I did not follow the custom of visiting seven churches on this evening, I went to four. At the Cathedral I remained a considerable time, listening to the music of the vespers. The fine bass voice of Friar Juan was sadly missed. He was banished for being concerned in the conspiracy of the 19th March, 1823. Valentin Gomez, one of the canons of the church, sat in full pontifical robes. Some of the Spaniards were jesting, in the church, upon his portly appearance, so different from the figure he cut at nearly the same period last year, when shipwrecked upon the English bank in the river Plate. I felt much impressed with my visit to the Cathedral: every thing combined to make me so;—the music, lights, and glittering altars, with the prostrate females attended by their slaves and servants.

The sermons at the churches, on the evenings of Lent, were well attended. The friar who preached at the church of Le Merced always attracted great crowds. At the porch of this church was placed an image of Christ, as large as life, in the act of being scourged; many devout females kissed the ropes which tied the wrists of the image.

Till late in the evening of Holy Thursday, people were kneeling before the church doors, counting beads, and saying their Ave-Marias. At nine o’clock at night, three military bands of music, of the artillery, Caçadores, and Legion de la Patria, each preceded by the globe, or balloon, with transparencies, carried upon a pole, entered the Plaza with drums muffled, and playing solemn airs. The artillery band was much admired; Masoni, and other professors, performed in it. I followed two of the bands to their barracks, at the Retiro. The night was lovely; and it was late ere I returned home, my thoughts entirely absorbed in the scenes of the day.

On the afternoon of Good Friday, the mass at the cathedral was well attended.

The custom of burning Judas has fallen off. On the Saturday, this year, the rain fell in torrents; but, a few nights after, Judas was burnt near the Victoria coffee-house, amidst fire-works and music.

Another great object of attention to us Protestants is the Holy Ghost proceeding through the streets, to administer the last offices of religion to those who are presumed to be in a dying state. The holy father, and one attendant, both richly attired, are seated in a coach drawn by white mules. They go at a walking pace, with a few soldiers for escort; negresses, boys, and others, carrying lighted lanterns, both by night and day. A bell warns passengers of its approach, when all within view must be uncovered, and, when they are near the carriage, kneel. This last operation, not being very agreeable in dirty weather, foreigners try to avoid his holiness altogether, by going up other streets. Equestrians descend from their horses, and kneel. At night, lights are placed in the windows of the houses they pass, and their inmates kneel. Why do you kneel? said I, to a slave boy, at a house in which I resided. “Because God is in the coach,” he replied. A brutal soldier, of the escort, once knocked an Englishman down, for not kneeling in time. The magistrates took cognizance of it; and, I hear, that strangers are not now obliged to kneel, though common respect will always teach them to be uncovered. In passing the guardhouses, the guards turn out, drums are beat, &c. They have now a large bell, the small one having been mistaken for those belonging to the water carts:[29] a Londoner might mistake it for the bell of the six-o’clock-afternoon postman.

Great veneration is paid to all that concerns this ceremony of the Holy Ghost: the very mules, it is said, were formerly looked upon as sacred. In passing coffee-houses, billiard-players, and gamblers of all descriptions, leave their profane games, to kneel. At the theatre, the performance is stopped; actors and actresses kneel on the stage, and the audience upon their seats. I have several times been present at scenes of this sort, and regarded them with great curiosity; though I have been very angry with the holy father, and impious enough to wish he had taken another route. I recollect, during an opera, one evening, the cavalcade passed no less than three times, and interrupted a delightful duet between Rosquellas and Señora Tani.

The summer of 1824-5, judging from the frequent appearance of the Holy Ghost in the streets, must have been rather a sickly one. Great respect is still paid to this holy visitant, who generally selects the evening to pay his visits. A smile will now and then take place, when the procession suddenly appears in a crowded neighbourhood, forcing all to bend the knee. The contrast of such Catholic customs with those of our sober England often occurs to me.

I am informed that great preparations take place in the sick chamber, where the sacrament is to be given. I do not admire this. The patient, enfeebled by disease, concludes there is no hope left; and often yields to despair. In England, on such occasions, a clergyman comes without pomp or attendants: his attentions are more like those of a friend, and he insensibly prepares the mind of the sufferer for the purposes of his visit. But we have much to correct in the dismal funeral bell, closing shops and windows, usual with us at burials. Life hourly presents enough to remind us of death, without those auxiliaries.

Funeral Ceremonies.—The room in which a corpse is deposited is lighted; large candles are placed round the coffin; and the wainscoting, tables, &c. are covered with white furniture, crosses, &c. The windows are often thrown open, for passengers to view the scene of death, as a warning that “to this complexion we must come at last.” I remember my surprise on first seeing a spectacle of this sort. The corpse of a female about thirty lay shrouded in her coffin, the lid of which was taken off, with her hands folded over her breast, and a small cross placed between them. The gaudy coffin, and the lights around it, gave it the appearance of wax work; indeed, I had an impression that it was so, for some minutes, not being aware of the country’s fashion in this affair.

Deceased persons are interred twenty-four hours after their decease; a necessary precaution in a warm climate. From the crowded state of the church-yards, they are now taken to the New Burial-Ground, at the Recolator; and corpses were removed thither from the church-yards, after having been buried some time. Scenes of confusion, in consequence, took place; with various imprecations from near relations, as mothers, husbands, and wives, upon recognizing the bodies of those whom they never expected to have seen again in this world.

The hearses are modelled after the French fashion, and are not followed by mourners. The relatives of the deceased attend the burial-ground to receive the body, and the church ceremonies of mass, &c. take place some days after.

The death of a friar, or any priest, is announced by a particular tolling of the bell.

The masses for the repose of the soul are performed at various churches, according to the wish of the relatives, who issue printed notices, inviting the friends of the deceased. Any one is at liberty to attend. Those of respectability, who can afford to pay, have several masses: but it is rather an expensive affair. The ceremony lasts from one to two hours. An imitation coffin is placed near the altar, surrounded by lights. If it be for a military or public man, the sword and hat are placed on the coffin, and a company of soldiers fire a volley at the church door. Towards the end of the mass, candles are put into the hands of the male part of the congregation, and in a few minutes taken from them again, and extinguished. At the close, the priests and friars, headed by their superior, take their station, in two lines, near the door, and receive and return the obeisances of the congregation. The relations and particular friends adjourn to the dwelling-house (sometimes to the refectory of the church), where a repast is prepared, of cakes, fruit, wine, liqueurs, beer, &c. the room being lighted, and hung with black and white decorations. I have heard some charming music in these masses, and it is far from being an unimpressive scene: the holding a light at the requiem of those we loved, carries with it a pleasing idea. There is, however, more real feeling in the simple country church-yard funerals in England, than in all this appeal to the senses.

A fantastic ornamented hearse, for carrying the bodies of children to their last home, has lately come into use. It has plumes of white feathers streaming from the top, and is drawn by two mules; the rider, a boy, is clothed after the manner of Astley’s equestrians.

Until the year 1821, the Protestants had no allotted place of burial; and, to satisfy the jealousy of the church, various subterfuges were obliged to be resorted to, in order to obtain something like a christian funeral. The government gave permission, and a piece of ground was bought, near the Retiro, for a cemetery, which has been inclosed, and a small chapel, with a neat portico of the Doric order, erected. The expence amounted to 4800 dollars, which was defrayed by Protestants of all classes: the British, were, of course, the chief contributors. The number buried there, from January 1821, to June 1824, was 71; of which 60 were British subjects. The service is read by some of the parties present.

At the funerals in the Protestant Burial-Ground, I have seen many Buenos Ayreans, both male and female, attracted thither by curiosity; they paid great attention, and expressed their approbation of our method of making the graves so deep.

Before this ground was opened, Protestants were buried without any service being read, and the shallow ground was hastily filled up. It was a favour that their fellowman was allowed to take up his “everlasting rest” in holy Catholic earth. I saw an English sailor interred in the Cathedral church-yard: a police-man attended, to see that no unfair means had been used, and three or four friars were strolling about. The sailor mourners eyed them askance, declaring it was shameful that they did not offer to perform the funeral service: “But what can you expect,” they added, “in such an unchristianlike land?” Their resentment was increased by seeing the mutilated body of a dead black child, which, from the nature of their graves, had made its appearance above the surface.

Police, &c.—To every barrier or parish an alcalde, or sitting magistrate, is appointed, who takes cognizance of the offences and disputes in his jurisdiction, and superintends the night-patrole. Every male is liable to be called out to act as watchman for the night; and he must attend, or provide a substitute, which costs six reals; and as this happens very often, strangers find it a tax. The patrole are armed with musquets and bayonets, and proceed through the streets at intervals during the night, visiting public houses, &c.

The most inferior officer connected with the police, or any public office, carries a rusty dragoon sword with him as his staff of office. The very messenger that delivers the summons for the nightly patrole comes thus armed, and upon the least provocation out goes the sword: this has been of late years a little corrected.

Buenos Ayres can boast of a well-disposed and orderly population. Robberies are sometimes committed, but nothing to the extent that might be supposed; many more are committed in an English city of the same magnitude, notwithstanding the expensive police. I have been out at all hours of the night, and have felt myself as secure as though I were in London, and perhaps more so.

The only time that I ever met with any thing like annoyance or interruption in the streets, was from a soldier on guard at the Cabildo, who made an attempt to push me from the pavement. I did not wish to notice the affair; but a Creole friend insisted that I should do so, stating, that in London he presumed Englishmen protected strangers when insulted. He went with me to the guard-house, alleged a complaint before an officer, and the soldier was confined: he appeared to be drunk.

The great blot of this country is, that amongst the lower orders, upon the least quarrel, knives are out; and what in England would vent itself in black eyes and bloody noses, here ends in murder; and until certain and speedy punishment follows these deeds, it will ever be so. The crime has decreased since the administration of Mr. Rivadavia, and the enactment of the law prohibiting the wearing of knives; still it continues in a degree. Justice is tardy, and the chance that the criminal may again be at liberty deters people from prosecuting, dreading his future vengeance. In England, where the law is strong, every one assists to apprehend an offender; but here a lukewarmness exists.

Several have, within these three years, suffered death for murder. I am inclined to think, that a law upon the plan of Lord Ellenborough’s act would do much to stop it. A Portuguese, some months since, stabbed to death the servant of Mr. Bevans, the Quaker engineer, in open day. The opponents of boxing, in England, should pause ere they so decidedly condemn it; its suppression might lead to more fatal results in deciding quarrels.

It was a common event, long after I arrived, to see bodies of persons who had been stabbed in some broil, exposed in the Plaza, to be recognized by their relatives or friends, with a saucer placed at their side to collect money to pay the expences of burying them.

These murders are confined to the very lowest orders of the people, and are generally the effect of a drunken quarrel. I must do them the justice to say, that I have not heard of any deliberate assassination, committed either upon a native or foreigner. Their annals are free from the refined murders of polished Europe, even, I regret to add, of our own England; we must not always cite the latter as an example, when we censure the abuses of other countries.

This stabbing system was thought so little of in Buenos Ayres, that no one cared to seize the murderer. If by chance he was apprehended, a short imprisonment sufficed, and he was then set at liberty to commit more crimes. Six or seven murders have been related to me, as known to have been committed by one man with apparent impunity; and that these things should be so, excites the astonishment of all strangers.

Foreigners newly arrived were accustomed to carry pistols about their persons at night; but this is very seldom the case now—they have more confidence.

The thieves, in some of their feats, may rank in ingenuity with the second-rate ones with us. One of their operations is hooking out clothes, linen, &c. from rooms, by means of a long pole with a hook at the end; and if the windows are not fastened at night, a risk is run of being robbed, though the iron bars should prevent any one from entering. Some friends of mine, lodging at the American Hotel, were plundered by those pole gentlemen one night, although sleeping three in a room, and they knew not of their loss until the morning, when they missed coats, trowsers, &c.; a writing-desk had also been hauled towards the window, the valuables taken out, and the loose papers scattered about the street and room. The comparing notes in the morning of their losses, and cursing the marauders, was laughable enough. Another friend was awoke at break of day, and observed his waistcoat dangling in the middle of the room from the top of a pole, and a man’s arm extended through the iron bars of the window guiding it. My friend having a sword could with ease have cut off the thief’s arm, but his humanity prompted him rather to make an alarm; upon which the pole and waistcoat were dropped, and the vagabond made his escape. Very serious losses of papers have been sustained by this mode of robbery.

The boys about the theatre door begging for the return tickets, or “contre-signs,” were a great annoyance; they were perfect thieves, and very impudent. I have lost several pocket handkerchiefs by their talents. Having refused to give my pass-check one night, they secretly followed me, and when near the wall of the Merced church, to my great surprise, saluted me with a shower of stones and bricks: I pursued the young rascals, but it was without effect. The soldiers prevent occurrences of this sort now, and two or three that were caught in the fact have been punished.

The boys in the streets of Buenos Ayres are as saucy a set of ragamuffins as those of London, without that daring and instant battle of the English boys. Many of their juvenile sports are similar to our’s; as kite flying, pitch in the hole, &c. They have a system of managing their kites, which may be called privateering: a knife is affixed to the tail of the kite, with which they endeavour to entangle other kites, and cut the string; should they succeed, knife, kite, string—all become lawful prize. Cricket, trap-ball, hoops, tops, and skipping, they do not practise. Riding on the backs of sheep, harnessed as horses, is another amusement; and those mutton cavalry are very expert.

The boys of the upper class are exceedingly well-behaved, and have very pleasing manners: they excel our’s in this respect. The greatest care is bestowed upon them; and we do not meet with that roughness among them, which is observable in my young countryfolks. The Buenos Ayres boy addresses a stranger in the street hat in hand, and with the greatest respect.

Since my abode in Buenos Ayres, I have been lucky enough to keep clear of all law proceedings; and never, until lately, visited a judicial court, except from curiosity. I was, however, requested to appear, in order to speak to the character of an English sailor, who was imprisoned at the Cabildo for a row, on the beach. I visited the prison, and found poor Jack roaming about a spacious yard, with lots of other prisoners; he spoke highly of the kind treatment he had received in prison. The presiding judge, or magistrate (a most gentlemanly man), after hearing the depositions read, discharged the sailor, no witnesses appearing for the prosecution. Mr. Poussett, the vice-consul, attended upon this occasion, and received every attention from the judge.

The mode of punishment by death is shooting; many think that hanging would be more appropriate for murder, and that the soldier’s death ought to be reserved for a soldier: however, death cancels all crimes.

In a public whipping, the offender is placed on a horse or mule, with his back bared, and his hands tied, and at the corners of streets he receives his punishment: those disgusting scenes I always avoid, if I can. I came once in contact with one: the poor wretch did not seem to suffer much; I fancied I had been as severely flogged at school. They appeared to strike him about a dozen quick blows at a time, with a piece of wood like a scrubbing-brush with some sharp substance attached.

Those ordered for imprisonment, are made to work in the streets, heavily ironed.

Sailors are punished by being put in the stocks; and for criminal offences, they are made to work in the streets in irons.

The close of the year 1824 witnessed a great increase of crime in Buenos Ayres. An atrocious murder was committed by two black fellows, upon a Genoese, who kept a tin shop near the College church. The murderers were apprehended, and shot at the Retiro, and their bodies afterwards suspended upon a gallows. A boy, accessary to the fact (having let the villains into the house), escaped capital punishment, being under the age regulated by law: he was, however, present at the execution. Two fellows broke into the house of Mr. Nelson, an English merchant, and stabbed his man-servant in several places; an alarm being given, they effected their escape. The servant recovered from his wounds. Numerous other robberies have taken place; amongst which, Mr. Parvin, an American clergyman, and three of his friends, were stripped of their clothes, a short distance from town.

The first execution in this country for forgery took place in February, 1825, upon the person of Marcelo Valdivia, who was shot at the Retiro. By the old Spanish law, a person convicted of forgery was condemned to lose his hand. This young man had been before sentenced to death for the same crime, but his punishment was commuted to exposure in the Plaza, imprisonment for eight years, and banishment for life. In July, 1824, he underwent the first part of his sentence, being seated in the Plaza for four hours, with the notes he had forged suspended from his breast. In prison, he committed other forgeries, including a forged order for his own release. The government have been highly applauded for their firmness in punishing this criminal. His friends applied to the British consul for his intercession, which was declined. Colonel Forbes, the American agent, was much censured for having, in 1821, interfered and saved a murderer from justice.

A black woman was shot, for attempting the life of her mistress. The execution of a female is a rare thing in this country.

Much as Buenos Ayres has improved in her jurisprudence, she has still a great deal to amend—that part which relates to committal before trial for civil offences particularly. The two following circumstances passed under my observation.

Upon the first issue of paper money, some forgeries were detected. An English captain, West, of the brig Fortune, conversing on this subject at a tavern, remarked, that a forgery might easily be effected; and that the gentlemen in that line at home would not be long about such a thing. This was reported to the police; and he was sent to prison without examination, upon suspicion of knowing of the forged notes, and was not released for some days.

In another case, Captain Harrison, of the brig Asia, was imprisoned nearly a month, for bringing a false report of Monte Video being blockaded; which was indeed partly true, Brazilian schooners of war having been off there, and sailed for Colonia.

If such regulations were followed in England, we must build more prisons as well as churches, and I know not what would become of the gentlemen of the Stock Exchange.

The trial by jury, which alone is worth fighting for, may yet reach South America. Every abuse cannot at once be rectified; they have, already, done wonders in this country.

Law proceedings are as expensive and tardy here, as in other parts of the globe. What with depositions, answers, &c. the suit goes on for years to the great benefit of lawyers; but they have reformed a great deal of the old obnoxious Spanish laws, particularly as they related to foreigners and their property. By the old law, when a foreigner died, their property in the country went to the state.

To leave Buenos Ayres, if it is only for a neighbouring town, passports must be obtained, which cost two dollars to quit the country, and four reals for any neighbouring town. Surprise is expressed that we can manage without those ceremonies in England; some passengers arriving from thence were once asked by a visiting officer for their English passports.

Army.—The standing army of the province consists of from 2500 to 3000 men in six regiments, viz. three of infantry, and three of cavalry. Of the infantry, there is one regiment of artillery, one Caçadores, and one of the line. There are also two regiments of Civicas, or militia.

The troops have lately improved, both in appearance and discipline; and indeed, there was great need of it: at present, a great deal cannot be said in their praise. Their manœuvres are few, such as forming line, companies, &c. and some minor movements, as firing volleys, street firing, &c. sufficient, probably, for the warfare in which they are likely to be engaged. The sudden change of front, close column, solid squares, the quick deploying into line, close firing, and rapid bayonet charge, are not to be seen among the troops of Buenos Ayres. Against veterans they could make but a feeble resistance; but in defending the town, with the assistance of the inhabitants and their house fortifications, they would be invincible; and to this mode of fighting I would advise the Buenos Ayreans to trust, should their city ever again be attacked.

The artillery corps are better: they work the guns with smartness, and have a good train of artillery, of six, eight, and twelve pounders, taken from the Spaniards at Monte Video and other places. Repeated exercise and firing take place with those great guns, early in a morning, on the beach.

The uniform coat of the soldiers is blue, with different facings of red, white, and green: they have caps like our infantry. The undress is a foraging cap, with a loop hanging on one side, trowsers of all colours, and some without shoes or stockings. The recruits are not immediately clothed in the soldier’s uniform, but drilled in all their dirt and native raggedness. The population will not admit of the mode of recruiting practised in Europe; they take every one they can: the equipments and material of their army are not, in consequence, very imposing.

If the men, in their attire, look sometimes like Sir John Falstaff’s famed regiment—not so the officers; they have fine showy uniforms, and cocked hats with the national cockade. The subaltern part are young men; the colonels make a good soldier-like appearance. Colonel Ramirez, in his blue coat and gold epaulets, always puts me in mind of a British naval officer; and Colonel Alvarez, who was wounded in our storming of Monte Video, reminds me of Raymond of Drury-Lane theatre.

There are some French and German officers in the service: the former, in blue coats and white facings, still look like the soldiers of Napoleon.

The only English officer at present in the military service of Buenos Ayres, is a gentleman named Charles Bowness; who, from having been nearly fifteen years in this country, is, in appearance, more like a Spaniard than an Englishman. He left England when very young, and has not heard of his family since his departure.

It was seldom that military officers were seen out of uniform; they wore it in the theatre, in the coffee-house, and in the assembly. But this fashion has changed; and when not on duty, the dress of the citizen is now preferred. On the continent of Europe, we are in constant contact with the military, and as constantly reminded of military despotism.

The infantry soldier is armed with a musquet and bayonet: the musquets have the Tower of London mark, and, as well as the cavalry swords, would look all the better for cleaning. The sergeants of infantry do not carry halberts. The regular cavalry are few in number, and not quite so brilliant as the Marquis of Anglesea’s crack regiment, or the Tenth Hussars.

The punishment of flogging is resorted to: I have often heard the cries of the sufferers belonging to a black regiment, quartered near my abode. I fear it is impossible to keep discipline without it, or public opinion would, long ere this, have suppressed it in England.

The bands of music attached to the regiments have made great progress in their profession: three years ago they were hardly bearable. Unfortunately, now, the ruling military authorities will not give us much opportunity of judging of their talents. They were accustomed, on a fine evening, to leave the Fort, in the summer at nine, in the winter at eight o’clock, and crossing the Plaza, take their station in one of the streets adjoining, generally the street of Victoria, or, as we named it, Bond Street, from its being the fashionable one, and filled with shops: here they would entertain us for an hour or more, and I have been gratified in hearing many tunes that charmed me in Europe, such as the overture to Lodoiska, &c. Another attraction was the number of girls that nightly attended: many a lover (“how silvery sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night”) has taken this opportunity to address his fair one. On a moonlight night, I have frequently viewed the countenances and elegant figures of the sweet creatures, no envious bonnet intercepting; and now some unmusical being has deprived me of this pleasure—I wish he would read Lorenzo’s observation in the Merchant of Venice upon those who lack taste in music.

About four times in the week, however, at eight or nine in the evening, one of the military bands parade from the Fort to their barracks at the Retiro, and at times we have heard some good music. On a fine night much company attend. From constant practice, the regimental musical bands have become proficients in their art; they perform some fine pieces of music, including the overture to Lodoiska, and the Polacca from the opera of The Cabinet. Braham ever occurs to my memory, when I hear the latter performed, and the enthusiasm with which a London audience always hail this song.

The dresses of the bands are of the Turkish costume, and though not so splendid as our third regiment of foot-guards, are equal to those of the line. They have instruments of English manufacture, all that constitutes a military band—triangle, cymbals, and bells, similar to our first regiment of Guards.

In 1820, some English shopkeepers and mechanics, in the excess of their zeal, determined to form a corps of cavalry, to act as body-guard to the governor. Twenty or thirty equipped themselves in a light blue jacket, and nondescript cap, and attended the procession as the life-guards of the state. The St. George assault, and vulgar exercise of the sword, made no part of their discipline. Now, whether Englishmen make but a poor figure when armed in the service of a foreign people, or that opinion is against it, from Coriolanus downwards, I know not; certain it is, that this regiment has decreased from its full complement to some five or six rank and file.

It was the custom until lately, to fire the fort guns on every 4th of July, the anniversary of our expedition under Whitelock. If they have discontinued it to spare us the mortification of being reminded of such an event, from my very soul I thank them;—it is a subject that makes the heart ache to think upon. No one can view the houses of Buenos Ayres without being struck with the impossibility of taking a town by such a mode of attack as it was our fate to pursue, against an inflamed population who were, from the highest to the lowest, our enemies. Well-informed men know that 5 or 6000 troops, with an adequate artillery, might have taken the town without scarcely entering it, and, what is more, by proper precautions might have kept it. The Spaniards had no troops of any consequence to oppose us; and if all the population of the town had ventured out of their fastnesses to combat us, the issue would not have been for one moment doubtful; for, as the lamented General Ross observed, when inquiring of an American friend of mine, his prisoner, the force near Baltimore, “I ask you, sir, of the regulars; it may rain militia.”

Our wounded, they tell me, were treated with kindness, especially by the female part of the population, who had been amongst the most inveterate of our foes. The heretic Englishman is not looked upon with that horror now, as it was formerly the fashion to paint him.

In the Annual Almanack, the following paragraph is tacked to the fatal 4th of July:—“Service in St. Domingo church: thanks to our Señora and St. Rosario, for the triumph, under their protection, in the year 1807, in having vanquished 12,000 English who attacked us.” With Macbeth, I am ready to exclaim, “May that pernicious hour stand aye accursed in the calendar!”

That such unlooked-for success should have inflated their imaginations is to be expected; but, in justice to this kind people, I must mention, that in English company they never in any way allude to the affair. They are well aware of the disadvantages we had to encounter, and that our troops were exposed to an absolute massacre.

I could fill pages with the anecdotes that have been told me of Beresford, Pack, and other officers; but it is a theme I care not to dwell upon.

Government, and Public Events.—The government of Buenos Ayres is an attempt at republicanism, without its simplicity. However, if the people are contented, we must not quarrel about forms, or expect an Utopia. I am no particular friend to republics; I have seen and enjoyed so much real liberty and happiness under the limited monarchy of my own country, that I can fancy no other form of government better.

The present governor, Don Gregorio Heras, is a military man: he served in several campaigns against the Spaniards, and is reported to be a man of decided character. In his opening speech to the junta, he observed, that, “being determined to obey the laws himself, he expected every one else to do the same.” Señor Heras is tall and personable, about forty-five years of age, with rather an expressive countenance. His title is Governor and Captain-General of the Province of Buenos Ayres. His prerogatives are very limited.

The governor, when taking the air in his carriage, has an escort of two dragoons; when on horseback, he is generally accompanied by his aides-de-camp.

Every public officer is allowed a soldier, who acts both as guard and servant, and is called the Ordenanza. The French Engineer cuts a great figure, with his soldier riding behind him: our humble Quaker prefers walking.[30]

Señor Garcia fills the office of secretary of state, having succeeded Mr. Rivadavia.

The Junta, or senate, consists of forty-eight members, who are elected annually: Señor Don Manuel Pinto is the president. The last election brought in several of the radical party; one or two of whom are the Humes of the Buenos-Ayres House of Commons. Since the secession of Mr. Rivadavia, Señor Gomez leads the ministerial side.

Señor Dorrego, who now distinguishes himself as an opposition speaker, is a colonel. In 1820, when the town was threatened by some armed countrymen, called Monteneros, he, on the spur of the moment, collected porters and carmen, and drove the enemy away, proving himself a dashing soldier. For a short period he assumed the “imperial purple,” until Rodriguez and his Colorados, in October, 1820, displaced him.

On the evening of the day on which the election for the members of the Junta terminates, a military band, with the balloon, or globe, preceding it, and attended by a crowd of young men, parades through the streets. The band stops opposite the houses of the members, and performs an air or two; the mob—if there is such a thing as a mob in Buenos Ayres—all the time shouting, “Viva la Patria!” “The representatives of the people for ever!” &c. If the Buenos Ayreans were to see our last day of an election—the thousands of mobility and patriots, hoarse with bawling—the banners—the rough music of marrow-bones and cleavers, tuned from counter-tenor to double bass—the sight, I think, would astonish, if not frighten them.[31]

The 25th of May, 1810, is the æra of the independence of Buenos Ayres; the period when, the French armies having overrun Spain, the people of this city deposed the viceroy, and appointed a junta of nine as a provisional government. This event is annually commemorated by a festival of three days. It commences on the evening of the 24th, when the Plaza is illuminated, by means of a lofty circle, formed of wood-work, erected round it. At sunrise on the 25th, the national hymn is sung by boys, &c. opposite the pyramid in the Plaza: to hail the rising sun is a Peruvian custom. In the day-time, various sports take place: greased masts are erected, at the summit of which are shawls, watches, and purses of money; and whoever can reach the top, may take any one of the above prizes. An English sailor, in 1822, brought down all the stock in trade, wrapping the shawls about his body, and putting the watches, money, and other articles, in his pockets and mouth. On his descent, he was surrounded by soldiers, who took away his booty; and on Jack making a shew of resistance, they marched him to prison. The bystanders, however, were indignant at this, and he was soon released, and allowed to retain one of the prizes. These masts cause great diversion, as very few succeed in mounting them; and our sailor was highly applauded. There is also an ingenious machine, called rompe cabeza, or break head, consisting of a pole placed lengthwise on pivots, elevated from the ground, with a cord on which to rest the feet. The difficulty is in getting along this pole; in doing which, hundreds are thrown off: the successful candidate obtains a piece of money. Military music plays at night in the galleries of the Cabildo; and fire-balloons and fire-works are let off, the latter emitting their balls of fire among the people. From the careless manner in which the fire-works are used by boys in the streets, I am surprised that no accidents happen.

The theatre is open every night of the holidays, and is always crowded; the anthem is sung; and they have extra lights, &c. The governor and his suite attend.

In the College church, on the 25th of May, prizes are distributed to those young females who have excelled in any particular branch of their studies. The ladies of the town take great interest in this, and attend the church in crowds. The organ performs during the ceremony, as well as other music.

In 1821, the rejoicings went off gloomily, with little or no preparations.

The arrangements in May, 1822, were the best that I have seen. The weather—indeed, every thing combined in its favour. Children of both sexes, dressed in fanciful costume, danced upon a stage in the Plaza, and at the theatre, and were drawn through the streets upon ornamental cars, by persons disguised as lions, tigers, and leopards. The music of the Plaza dance even now dwells upon my mind, producing remembrances I can scarcely account for. Its soft and pretty music ought to make it a standard dance for the 25th May. In this May, of 1822, I was delighted, and, for the moment, relieved from worldly cares. I strayed, at evening, about the Plaza: the mimic angels I could almost fancy real; and the sweet dark-eyed girls that every moment met my eye were, to me, Houris of Mahomet’s Paradise. The illusion was complete: but, alas! like all other earthly pleasures, it has passed away—would that I could add, as a “dream slightly remembered.” A troop of equestrians rode through the streets, dressed like Astley’s horsemen, and masqued: they proceeded to the Alameda, and fixing a small ring to a cord in the middle, they each endeavoured to pull it down at full gallop.

In 1823, the weather was cold and wet. The Quaker made an effort to light the Police-Office with gas; it only partially succeeded: the words Viva la Patria blazed out at intervals. Considering the obstacles, I am astonished he did so much.

In 1824, the weather was fine; but, to me, the affair appeared altogether inferior to 1822. There was no dancing, or Astley’s troop; the fire-works were something better, and were judiciously placed on the arch, instead of the Cathedral, as heretofore.

On the 25th of May, the governor and the public officers, with the dignitaries of the church, walk in state to the Cathedral church, at which there is a solemn service.

In 1824, the new governor, Don Gregorio Heras, gave a grand dinner at the Fort: 120 sat down, including the American minister, the English consul and two vice-consuls, and many foreigners. The dessert was superb; not like those we have, but chiefly of sweetmeats; sugar castles, fortifications, and other designs made up of this latter article.

Velarde gave a very comic description of the Fiestas, at the theatre, in blank verse, in the character of a Gaucho, seated with his companions round a fire, smoking, to whom he is relating the events of the day, and, among the rest, of the English sailor climbing the mast like a cat. This actor displays abilities of no ordinary merit in this style of acting.

These four days passed without a single robbery, or even the dread of such an event. Few cities in Europe can boast as much, with a population of 60,000 persons.

It is said, that the diversions of the 25th of May, from the expense, and uncertainty of the weather, are to be discontinued, or at least postponed to another part of the year. I hope they are not to be done away with. Some few hours may surely be taken from the cares of life, and devoted to enjoyment, in spite of the heartless censure of the few.

It is not my intention to enter into an historical detail of the political events that have agitated this country since the declaration of its independence: they would alone occupy more space than I have proposed to myself for these Remarks. The notice of a few events, however, connected with public affairs, since my residence in this city, and of public men, may not be uninteresting in this place.

The year 1820, in which I arrived, was remarkable for its frequent political changes. Scarcely any of the several chiefs, who rapidly succeeded each other at the head of government, retained their power more than a few weeks, till Don Martin Rodriguez, at the head of his Colorados,[32] or Red Men, (so named from the colour of their ponchos, or cloaks), having succeeded in an attack upon the town, put down the Civicas, or militia, who, although appointed to preserve the peace of the city, by their frequent insurrections, kept it in a constant state of agitation. A battle was fought in the streets of the town, and many lives were lost. He was finally confirmed Governor, on the 6th October, 1820, and continued in office for three years, the period prescribed by law. Since that time the government has assumed an appearance of stability, and improvements have taken place in every department of the administration.

Don Martin Rodriguez is a tall, well-looking man, and a good soldier. Without the possession of any very shining abilities, he has done more for the benefit of the state than any of his predecessors, and retired from office with the esteem of all parties. He was succeeded by Don Gregorio Heras, the present governor, in April, 1824.

During his government, Rodriguez owed much to the able administration of Don Bernadino Rivadavia, who may be considered the William Pitt of Buenos Ayres. He entered office, as minister, in 1821, and left it with Señor Rodriguez; the law requiring that ministers should resign, or be re-elected, with the new governor. Mr. R. was strenuously entreated to continue in his situation; but he steadily refused, and his friends deplored the determination. One of the first acts of his administration was to annihilate privateering.[33] By him the revenue was simplified and increased; public plunderers could no longer escape detection; and his firmness awed the disturbers of public peace, and made the province respected by foreigners. In the suppression of the monasteries, he encountered every species of obloquy from a certain class. Now that passion has in some degree subsided, his opponents, and even the priesthood, must allow, that he had no other motive but his country’s good; and they cannot deny him the merit of disinterestedness and unshaken resolution. Strangers of all descriptions are grateful to him for the protection and attention he has shewn them, and the encouragement given to their pursuits, which add to the capital and prosperity of the country. The greatest eulogium that can be bestowed upon Mr. Rivadavia’s government is a comparison of Buenos Ayres in 1821 and 1824, the periods when he accepted and when he retired from office. His administration forms an æra in the political annals of the state, and will rank him as an able—nay, more—an honest minister. His system, it is said, will be strictly followed by his successors: I trust it may, for the good of their country.

Mr. Rivadavia was bred to the law. He has been represented to me as a man of strong passions, with nothing of the courtier in his manners, which, at times, approach to abruptness. The three years he was in office have proved that he possesses first rate talents as a statesman. Political as well as personal enemies every man must expect, in a situation like his; and though such a consideration might not have intimidated him from again accepting office, very possibly it might have had some influence, conceiving, that, as the foundation was laid for a good system of government, they should not reproach him with clinging to office for the sake of power and emolument.

Mr. Rivadavia has visited both France and England in a public capacity, and has again sailed for Europe, in the Walsingham packet, in part to superintend the education of his son, who is now, I believe, in the college of Stonyhurst. He will carry with him a distinguished name; before, he was in a manner unknown. He speaks a little English, and very good French.

In person, Mr. Rivadavia has some peculiarities; and were he much before the public in London, I fear, he would not long escape the wicked pencils of our caricaturists: should it be so, he cannot complain; he will find the king, and the first people in the realm, not spared by them. His figure is short and thick, with a dark complexion; and he generally walks with one arm behind him. He wears black clothes, with tight pantaloons, displaying Herculean limbs.

As an orator, Mr. Rivadavia is not very imposing; he has a deep sonorous voice, and is eloquent—but not exactly a Cicero.

In October, 1820, two persons were shot in the Plaza, near the Fort, for state offences connected with the revolution of the period—one a military officer, and the other a drum-major. The former was executed in a poncho, in which disguise he was taken. They were conducted from the Fort in heavy irons, each holding a small cross, and accompanied by friars on each side, to whom the criminals eagerly listened. At the fatal spot their sentence was read: they were placed on seats, and tied; the priests slowly withdrew, still whispering comfort to the unhappy men; an officer waved his handkerchief—and they were no more. The band struck up the tune of “The Downfall of Paris,” as the troops marched past the bodies. A number of females witnessed the appalling sight from the neighbouring balconies.

On the night or morning of the 19th March, 1823, an attempt was made at another revolution, upon the plea that the religion of the country was in danger. Gregorio Taglé, a lawyer, and a man of some talent, was the chief of this conspiracy: he had been formerly one of the state ministers; and, after its failure, he escaped to Colonia. The disturbance began by some hundreds of Gauchos from the country galloping into the town, shouting “Viva la religion!” &c. &c. They overpowered the guard at the Cabildo, released the prisoners, and began to toll the bell; and at that hour (two o’clock in the morning) it did certainly frighten the town “from its strict propriety.” In the Plaza they were received by a discharge of musquetry from a few troops, who had advanced out of the Fort, and who, after killing and wounding several, put the rest to the rout. Garcia, a Colonel, implicated in the plot, was shot a few days afterwards: he met his fate with firmness.

This execution was followed by two more, those of Colonel Peralto and Urien. The latter had been an officer both in the Buenos-Ayrean and Peruvian services, and now suffered for a participation in the conspiracy, and a murder committed some years ago. He was in confinement at the Cabildo, awaiting his sentence for the latter offence, and being a relation of Mr. Rivadavia, interest was making to save him, when the conspirators released him. Strict search was made for the escaped criminal; and in a few days, he surrendered himself, upon a promise of pardon on condition of his making discoveries of those concerned in the late conspiracy. Several were arrested upon his depositions; amongst them, an English shopkeeper named Hargreaves, whom he accused of selling fire-arms to the rioters at one and two in the morning of the 19th March. An examination proved that all the accusations were false: the accused were released, and Urien desired to prepare for death.

Urien was well known in the coffee-houses of Buenos Ayres; he was much in debt, and some of his creditors were Englishmen. The murder of which he was convicted, was committed in conjunction with a female, the wife of the murdered man, and the body had been cut in pieces, and buried at different times. Since the murder, he had been in Peru, and had also lived in Buenos Ayres, unsuspicious of discovery. Having a fine person and countenance, he was a favourite with the ladies, and a complete “man upon town.”

The execution of Urien and Colonel Peralto took place between ten and eleven o’clock in the morning: they were conducted from the Cabildo prison, ironed, and under a strong guard. They moved slowly along the Plazas to the appointed spot, near the Fort, where they were both uncovered, each holding a cross, and attended by priests: the person of Urien attracted much attention, on account of his tall figure, and dark expressive countenance. He was dressed in a silk levita, or frock-coat, and walked unsupported, and with great firmness; a smile now and then appeared upon his face, as he conversed with the priests. He would have gained universal sympathy, but for his great crimes; as it was, disgust was mingled with pity, that such a man should be so guilty. The other wretched man, Peralta, covered with a large great coat, with his head bound up, and supported by his friends and the priests, seemed the picture of misery. At the arch which parts the Plazas, the sentence was read to the prisoners; and again near the fatal place, at which it was some time ere they arrived, from the slowness with which the procession moved. Near the Fort, Urien eyed the artillerymen at their guns, upon the ramparts: his resolution appeared to falter, and he apparently wished to prolong the time at the place of execution by conversation with those about him. At length he was seated. His companion, during this delay, had taken his seat, and, at this last trying moment, was more composed than Urien. The soldiers fired: Peralta fell dead; but Urien still kept his seat, appearing only slightly wounded. The drums, which began to beat, were stopped, and a horrible scene ensued. Several soldiers placed their musquets at the head of Urien: they missed fire, one after the other; at last, one exploded, which, from the report it made, could only have been slightly charged. The poor wretch fell upon the ground, but was not dead; and he endeavoured to raise himself up upon his elbow. Other musquets were discharged, and Urien moved no more. The feelings of the spectators, during this appalling spectacle, may well be conceived. The hearse and coffin were in attendance; and, after the troops had passed, the bodies were placed in them, and taken for interment. A great concourse attended the execution. Peralta was much pitied, having borne an excellent character. The ceremony altogether was terrible; and the part in which the magistrate reads the sentence appears singular to a stranger: a man repeats every word after him in a loud voice; he is selected, I presume, for this qualification.

José Miguel Carrera, so conspicuous in the revolutions of this part of South America, was shot, at Mendoza, in 1821. He was a Chilian by birth, and belonged to one of the first families there: he was a man of considerable abilities. The execution of his two brothers, Antonio and Luis, in that same city, and other political affairs, had made him vow eternal enmity to the government of Buenos Ayres; particularly to San Martin, whom he much disliked. In his vengeance, he had raised the Indians to assist him. This act lost him many of his friends, who now viewed him with a kind of horror, as chief of barbarians. He was betrayed into the hands of his enemies, and immediately put to death, which, it is almost needless to observe, he underwent with courage, and was buried, it is said, in the same grave with the brothers he so dearly loved.

Carrera was in the prime of life, tall, and elegantly formed: his desperation and courage rank him as one of Lord Byron’s heroes, though not exactly “with one virtue linked to a thousand crimes.” His widow (who has been a fine woman), and infant family, I afterwards saw at Buenos Ayres. One of the latter, a little girl not five years of age, was imprudently asked, in my presence, what had become of her father? “Murdered by the Mendoceans,” she quickly replied.

San Martin, having retired from public life, embarked at Buenos Ayres for France and England, attended by his daughter. His wife, one of the daughters of the late Señor Escalada, died a short time since in this city. San Martin is a tall, stout man, about forty-five years of age: he is said to be rich. He has his detractors; however, they cannot deny him one great military qualification, that of a determined mind. In his dispute with Lord Cochrane, the latter had decidedly the best of the argument, judging from a pamphlet which his lordship has published.

The late General Belgrano, a native of this province, and who distinguished himself in several actions against the Spaniards, has a day set apart for funereal rites: it takes place in June, the anniversary of his death.

In the month of October, 1824, the visit of a New-Zealand chief to Buenos Ayres, by name Tippahée Cupa, attracted much curiosity; he arrived in the British ship Urania, Captain Reynolds. Tippahée came alongside this ship in Cook’s Straits, with a war canoe filled with his people, and, in spite of the remonstrances and even force used by Captain R. refused to quit the vessel, expressing his determination to proceed to England. He bade his followers an affectionate adieu, enjoining obedience to his successor during his absence. The Urania sailed for London with her passenger the 8th December, 1824.

Tippahée, when he first arrived in Buenos Ayres, was clothed in an old red coat, formerly belonging to a London postman. The English paid him many attentions, inviting him to dine at their houses, and new clothing him. His behaviour at table was easy and unembarrassed; and, when requested, he would perform the dances and war songs of New Zealand. He understood a little of the English language, and spoke a few words of it; his intelligent manners, and circumspect conduct, rendered him an universal favourite. On the map he could trace the ship’s course from New Zealand to Lima and Buenos Ayres. He knew an Englishman immediately; the Spaniards he did not much admire, fancying they viewed him with contempt, and was glad to get among Englishmen. His age is about forty; he possesses amazing strength; his tattooed face and appearance always attracted a crowd after him in Buenos Ayres. On board ship he was found very useful, doing all sorts of work, but he positively declined to go aloft. The fate of Captain Thompson, and the crew of the British ship Boyd, ought to bespeak caution in using coercion with these savage chieftains of New Zealand. In Cruise’s book of New Zealand, Tippahee was shewn a picture of a chief of his country, with which he was greatly delighted. The object of his journey to England is to solicit arms and ammunition, to place him upon a par with a rival chief, who possesses those requisites.

At the dinner given on St. Andrew’s day, in December, 1824, by the Scotch gentlemen, Mr. Parish, the British consul, hinted at the speedy acknowledgment of the independence of Buenos Ayres by his government. This intimation was received with great enthusiasm by a numerous company, among whom were the principal members of government.

The Camden packet took home the treaty between the British and Buenos-Ayrean governments, with several passengers, including Mr. Griffiths, one of the vice-consuls, and Mr. Nunez, a Creolian gentleman, secretary to Mr. Rivadavia. The Lord Hobart packet took home passenger Mr. M‘

Don Carlos Alvear, and Don Felix Castro, have proceeded to England from Buenos Ayres: the former makes it on his way to the United States of North America, to which he is appointed minister. Their mission to London is supposed to have reference to the loan about negotiating. The security to British capitalists is surely as good, if not better than in many other cases in which they have lent money. There are no restrictions upon interest: the average has been 12 per cent.; but this is decreasing.

Alvear was formerly a director of Buenos Ayres, and is a very active man. In the early part of his life, he narrowly escaped destruction, when going to Spain in one of the Spanish frigates captured, in 1804, by Captain Graham Moore. The frigate in which he had taken his passage was one that blew up, and he had only left it prior to the action, to pay a visit on board another ship: some of his nearest relatives perished in the explosion.

Should Alvear harbour any dislike to our country, it may be attributed to this shocking catastrophe; but, I am persuaded, his good sense has, long ere this, made him view it as one of the accidents inseparable from the quarrel of nations.

At eight o’clock in the evening of the 21st January, 1825, an express entered Buenos Ayres with news of the battle of Ayacucho, in Peru. A victory so decisive and unexpected caused a tumult of joy: people crowded round the coffee-houses, listening to the different orators describing the victory; it brought to one’s recollection the crowds at the newspaper offices in London, upon similar occasions. At ten o’clock at night, a triple salute was fired from the Fort, which was answered by another from the Aranzazu brig of war, anchored in the inner roads, and a Brazilian brig of war. Partial illuminations and fire-works took place the same evening.

On the 22d January, there was a performance at the theatre, when the national hymn was sung, amidst loud vivas for Bolivar, Sucre, &c.; and Colonel Ramirez read the official detail to the audience from the boxes. The theatre was decorated with silks and national emblems, and illuminated with extra lights: an ode upon the victory was sold at the doors, and a military band stationed there.

The rejoicings continued for three nights, with bonfires, illuminations, and military music in the gallery of the Cabildo; the pyramid in the Plaza was illuminated, and surrounded by transparencies, &c. The people seemed mad with joy; I could scarcely have believed them capable of such enthusiasm; and though, perhaps, these ebullitions are not at all times to be taken as a test of patriotism, yet I am persuaded, the mass of the people sincerely rejoiced.

The Coffee-house de la Victoria was thronged both inside and out; and wine and beer were drank in profusion. Various toasts were given, amongst which was “Religious Toleration.” There was abundance of speechifying, describing the past and the future, with the happiness in reserve for the inhabitants of the province of the Rio de la Plata. Some hundreds formed themselves into military array, and, with banners and music, proceeded through the streets, singing the national hymn, and shouting opposite the houses of known patriots with loud vivas. At the residence of the British Consul they cheered for England, the King of England, and liberty. At the American minister’s, similar compliments were bestowed on North America. Colonel Forbes invited them inside, and pledged them in bumpers of wine. During the whole of the night the assemblage continued in the streets, with music and singing; yet but few irregularities took place. Some violent spirits declaimed against the Brazilians, and, it is said, windows were broken at the Brazilian Consul’s house;[34] but this act was quickly discountenanced by the rest. In fact, they have nothing here which can put one in mind of a mob, especially an English mob. The bands that paraded the streets were composed of the most genteel young men of the town. A young man named Saravia is looked up to as a sort of leader and manager on these popular occasions; possessing abundance of wit, activity, a tolerable share of oratory, and staunch patriotism, Saravia plays no insignificant part in the politics of Buenos Ayres.

Public dinners were given at Faunch’s Hotel. Eighty Creolian gentlemen sat down to an entertainment of this description. The dining-room was decorated with flags of all nations, portraits of Bolivar, Sucre, &c.; and military music was in attendance, which played “God save the King!” upon the King of England’s health being proposed.[35]

Another dinner was given by Don Gregorio Heras, the governor, at the house of the Consulado, in the same style and splendour, and rivalling even London itself. The bumper toasts were numerous and appropriate.[36]

A subscription ball and supper was likewise given by some of the Buenos Ayrean gentlemen, at the Consulado. English and other foreigners attended in considerable numbers. The patio, or court-yard, covered by an awning, and brilliantly decorated, was devoted to dancing: the concourse of ladies was very great, who, by their style of dancing and charming attire, rendered the scene exceedingly fascinating, upon a par with any such amusements in Europe. The dancing continued all night, and until nearly seven o’clock on the Sunday morning, not having any Bishop of London or sanctified gentry to interfere. Unfortunately, the night proved intensely hot. The supper table was laid out in the grand saloon.

The North-American gentlemen resident in Buenos Ayres, on the 23d February, 1825, gave a similar entertainment at the same building, the Consulado, in honour of the victory of Ayacucho, and of Washington’s birth-day. Having more time for preparation, and the evening being cool it was the most superb affair ever seen in this country; and as regarded effect, it could hardly be surpassed. The awning was arranged in the form of a dome; and the walls of the court-yard in which the dance was held were covered with flags: Buenos Ayrean, Peruvian, Chilian, British, and American, were most conspicuous. The glare of light falling on these colours, with the sylph-like movements of the ladies mingling in the dance, made all appear enchantment, realizing the fables of Eastern romance. “London cannot beat this!” exclaimed a John Bull just arrived from England, as he entered the scene of festivity: the graceful attitudes and appearance of the female part of the company evidently surprised him. The music was of the first description; Masoni and other professors presiding. It was the first entertainment given in this country by the North Americans to the Buenos Ayres public; and they certainly succeeded to the utmost, reflecting the highest honour upon their liberality and patriotism. It may be said that “all the world” of Buenos Ayres was there, and they did not separate until seven o’clock the next morning. The exterior of the Consulado was illuminated, with the names of Washington, Bolivar, Sucre.

The substantial part of these different entertainments was superintended by Faunch, the English hotel keeper, the only man in this country competent to the undertaking: his arrangements would not disgrace Messrs. Gunter and Debatt.

The town was illuminated during the three nights of Carnival. In the Plaza, the names of the South-American heroes blazed from the “Casa de Policia.” The rompe cabeza (or break head), greased masts, and other sports, took place; two military bands of music playing alternately. The weather being fine, added to the pleasure; the streets and Plaza were filled with people. I viewed the scene as an event, perhaps, never to occur again—I mean as to such a continuance of enthusiasm and festivals; and, like Noodle and Doodle, “as we never saw the like before, ’tis fit we make the most of it.” I had, too, my forebodings, and was not quite so sanguine as to the future moral happiness of the country: for as population increases, its attendants, crime and misery, follow.

The theatre was open the three nights; the national hymn was sung, the house decorated, &c. The British consul, with his suite, attended on one of the nights of Carnival; and on the Sunday, went in state from the Fort to the Cathedral church. All the public officers were in the train, including the foreign consuls. It was a walking procession; and Mr. Poussett, the British vice-consul, walked with Mr. Slacum, the North-American consul. Some forty or fifty years back, who could have dreamt of such an event—a British consul joining in a procession with a consul of her colonies, now independent, to celebrate the independence of another part of the American continent.

Buenos Ayres illuminations are of a very inferior description, a candle or two placed in each window; no tasteful transparencies. The house of Mr. Losana was an exception: he had a transparency of the British and North American national arms, and an incessant rattling of fire-works (crackers) from the roof and windows of his mansion.

On the 24th February, a triumphal car was paraded through the streets, followed by a piece of artillery, and another car containing arms of all descriptions, the whole preceded by persons bearing torches, and military music. The grand car was adorned with flags: the British flag I did not observe amongst them. When the cavalcade reached the Plaza, it was overtaken by a Pampero wind, with the usual accompaniment of dust, obscuring the atmosphere, and obliging shops and windows to be instantly closed. The London pickpockets, during these squalls would find ample field for their talents.

During the rejoicings for the Ayacucho victory, the Aranzazu brig of war had the flag of old Spain floating under that of Buenos Ayres.

Concluding Remarks.—The great want of this country is population; and until it is increased by an industrious race, agriculture will remain at its present low ebb; and they will have no sure defence against distant enemies, powerful neighbours, and the ravages of the Indians. It would be advantageous to encourage emigration from the over-peopled countries of Europe, give them protection and an interest in the country; then Buenos Ayres may reach those high destinies which her sanguine politicians pretend to see in perspective; but it is not by simple talking, that this is to be done. England reached her present greatness by degrees, and by various sacrifices. I am aware that many in Buenos Ayres view the influx of strangers with jealousy, and talk very highly of their powerful means, &c. But, setting aside the old adage, that “boasters do the least,” what could protect them, if an alteration should take place in European politics, and any one of the states of Europe, without fear of obstruction, should determine to appropriate the province of Buenos Ayres to itself? The 150,000 men, women, and children, that now inhabit it, would stand a miserable chance against the hordes that would be then let loose upon them. Therefore, an increase of population, having all the rights of citizens, would be an increase of power; and, in defence of their property and homes, they would all join heart and hand to drive the spoilers from their adopted land.

If, however, an attack from any European power be considered an event too distant or improbable to create any apprehension, Buenos Ayres has a more immediate danger to provide against, from an enemy whose attacks are neither problematical nor easily to be parried. This province is unfortunately exposed to the ravages of the Indians, who murder the inhabitants, and carry off the cattle, spreading desolation and terror around. They are frequently within a hundred miles of the city, and in 1823 they approached much nearer. They advance in general, from the S. or S.E. quarter, in bodies of 3, 4, 5, and 600, armed with spear and lasso. In using the last, they are almost sure to entrap the unfortunates within their reach. The forces opposed to them appear inadequate; the horses, unable to endure the hardships of such a campaign, have not been found equal to those of the Indians; and as prisoners taken by them seldom meet with mercy, it has inspired timidity. When likely to be hard pressed, the Indians disperse in all directions, flying to their inaccessible retreats. The late Governor Rodriguez headed several expeditions against them, but without any marked success.

Four officers of Buenos Ayres, in 1823, were sent with a message to the Indians, who were detained and murdered. One of them, a Polish gentleman, named Bullicusque, had been in Napoleon’s army, and was much esteemed. He had some talent at caricature: one which he made of Mr. Rivadavia attempting to climb the Rompe Cabeza, in allusion to the suppression of the Friars, caused some mirth.

That any portion of the civilized part of South America should, at this period, be held in terror by Indians, is a disgrace to Spanish management, after 350 years of possession. The East Indies, and its hundred millions of people subject to British sway, present rather a different spectacle: they are in peace, and under the protection of the laws; the once powerful Mahratta nation, the Pindarees, and other warlike tribes having been subdued or conciliated within our time. The suppression of the predatory Indians about this province is a legacy left by the Spaniards to their late colonists.

The Indians of South America are, in persons and countenance, a striking contrast to those of Africa. They have long black hair, flat faces, short thick persons, and complexions of the mulatto cast, without any thing in their countenances to denote ferocity, judging from those I have seen in the streets of Buenos Ayres as prisoners. They have a slight clothing, but it is very filthy. The woolly hair and tawny skin are not seen amongst them. They are much attached to their caciques, or chiefs.

In the present state of the province, it is a question whether it would not be sound policy to take into pay 3 or 4000 foreign troops, and, by placing them in cantonments on the exposed frontiers, awe the Indians, and give the state a greater respect with other nations.

Every Buenos Ayrean who really loves his country, will view the arrival of a settler emigrant amongst them more as a benefit than an injury.

Some of my countrymen are of opinion, that the acknowledgment of the independence of Buenos Ayres by the British government will induce many to emigrate from home, and thus add to the strength, industry, and capital of this province. I should rejoice at such an occurrence; our England, Ireland, and Scotland, can well spare from their too numerous population.

But, unless a person has some settled object of business, Buenos Ayres will not prove the most eligible place to speculate upon for employment.

Clerks, unless they possess strong recommendations, or come expressly engaged, had better not venture upon the voyage: they will, in all probability, meet with great disappointment. The mercantile houses have their clerks sent from the firms at home; little chance in that capacity, therefore, remains for others. Many have returned to England, finding that to continue here was only making bad worse.

It is professions of the first necessity that succeed. Mechanics are sure of employment, and with prudence can save money. A journeyman carpenter may earn, by piece-work, four to five dollars per day; their regular wages from the English masters are from forty to forty-five and forty-eight dollars per month. Braziers, blacksmiths, &c. do well: Englishmen have shops in all those branches. Labourers of all descriptions are in request.

Farming I do not conceive a profitable concern: labour is high, and the foreign farmer, from the sort of men he must employ, is continually exposed to petty thefts, the punishment of which causes great annoyance and trouble. English labourers generally manage to leave their master the moment they become useful. Several Englishmen have tried the system of farming, without much success; it is more adapted to the natives, and, from what I have heard, they make nothing extraordinary of it. It is possible that a man with a capital of 800 to 1000l. may more than live; but it ought to be a strong temptation to induce an individual with that property to leave his country, and to be well assured of the probable advantages of such an experiment. At the present moment a rapid fortune is not to be made as a farmer; he must be content to plod on for years, with great anxiety, and labour to boot. The soil, rich as it is, requires artificial aid.

It is in holding estancias, or grazing farms, that money has been made; and from the high price of hides, and the continual demand for them, this affords every prospect of advantage.

Emigrants will not find the conveniences they have at home, but as many comforts as they can possibly expect in a foreign land, including the favourable climate.

An English female, upon her first arrival in this country would not find herself very comfortable; it must take some time to reconcile her to the loss of home, dress, mode of living—every thing so different; the only alleviation is in the society of her country folks, and the kind behaviour of the people, which will soon soften those feelings, and when somewhat conversant in the language, she would become attached to Spanish society, from whom she may be assured of receiving the most delicate attentions that hospitality can prompt.

A person will not be long in Buenos Ayres without picking up acquaintances with its inhabitants; amongst whom are some very intelligent young men. I have sometimes thought it would give me pleasure to conduct one of them to England, to be—not exactly a Mentor (needing that myself), but a sort of escort to him in the modern Babylon, London; to explain its many varieties, from the mansions of the nobility, down to the fondas of St. Giles’s, where plates, knives, and forks, are chained to the tables, to prevent the customers walking off with them.

Common report asserts, that a strong French faction exists in Buenos Ayres. I will not pretend to offer an opinion upon this. Three years ago, I thought there was a decided leaning towards France: but I do not think there is so much now. If it were only for the sake of consistency, they must be ashamed of French politics, and the war in Spain, undertaken, as “an experiment to try the fidelity of the French army,” according to Monsieur Chateaubriand, who asserted that a few months campaigning had done more good for France than years of peace. That a portion of the inhabitants may be attached to the French, is probable; their manners and religion assimilate more than ours. An Englishman is looked upon as a strange creature, different from the rest of the world. Other nations have not that characteristic of country (excepting the North Americans): a Frenchman, Italian, &c. mixes in the crowd as one of the country in which he resides, and is scarcely recognized as a foreigner; but nature seems to have placed her peculiar mark upon us, and, in conjunction with our law against expatriation, seems to assert, that “once an Englishman, always an Englishman.” It would appear that strangers can almost discover us blindfold: often, on the darkest night, I have been accosted by boys and others as an Englishman.

The old Spanish part of the population, I dare say, dislike, and can never forgive us; we are ever the subject of their sneering remarks, and must expect to be so. That we can act from principles of pure honour, appears to them impossible; and they affect to trace self-interest at the bottom of all our professions, particularly as to the proceedings of the British government toward South America, which have gained us so much popularity with those states; and given British politics the lead, which indeed never stood more high in Buenos Ayres than at the present moment.

Englishmen are aware that very few like them as a nation, however they may respect them as individuals; and should our country be once on the wane, there would be plenty of helping hands to press us further down. It requires no extraordinary sagacity to account for this animosity. I am certain, however, we have numerous friends in Buenos Ayres. The rising generation have, in a manner, grown up with us. Time will wear away antiquated prejudices, and it will be seen that the calumnies which have been heaped upon our nation for ages, have not been deserved. Many fine young Englishmen reside in Buenos Ayres in mercantile and other employments: this portion associate a great deal with the inhabitants, with whom they have formed a perfect intimacy.

I do not expect emigration from England yet, to any great extent. The English people, in general, have a repugnance to live under foreign laws, and where the influence of a religion prevails which from childhood they have been taught to believe is inimical to their own. But, waving these considerations, they would have little else to complain of. Here is a rich soil, without any dread of sands and blights, as at the Cape of Good Hope; and if they cannot amass a fortune, they are sure to live, and that comfortably. Of the kind-hearted inhabitants I have already spoken: my countrymen may be assured, there are no foreigners with whom he will find himself so much at home as with the Buenos Ayreans. Therefore, I again repeat, that farmers with a small capital may gain a livelihood—perhaps, more; labourers are sure of constant employment; and mechanics are ever in request. The climate is congenial; the government are their sure protectors; and the people, in spite of every prejudice, esteem our nation. The age of revolutions, I think, is past; and, during their utmost violence, strangers were never molested. British vessels from Liverpool are continually arriving: and the cost of the passage is moderate.