that stirred in camps. Men of the highest military
rank were going out with the expedition; but they all
loved Kate as a sister, and were delighted to hear
that she would join their mess on board ship.
This ship, with others, sailed, whither finally bound,
I really forget. But, on reaching America, all
the expedition touched at Vera Cruz. Thither
a great crowd of the military went on shore.
The leading officers made a separate party for the
same purpose. Their intention was, to have a
gay happy dinner, after their long confinement to
a ship, at the chief hotel; and happy in perfection
it could not be, unless Kate would consent to join
it. She, that was ever kind to brother soldiers,
agreed to do so. She descended into the boat
along with them, and in twenty minutes the boat touched
the shore. All the bevy of gay laughing officers,
junior and senior, like schoolboys escaping from school,
jumped on shore, and walked hastily, as their time
was limited, up to the hotel. Arriving there,
all turned round in eagerness, saying, ‘Where
is our dear Kate?’ Ah, yes, my dear Kate, at
that solemn moment, where, indeed, were you?
She had certainly taken her seat in the boat:
that was sure. Nobody, in the general confusion,
was certain of having seen her on coming ashore.
The sea was searched for her—the forests
were ransacked. The sea made no answer—the
forests gave up no sign. I have a conjecture of
my own; but her brother soldiers were lost in sorrow
and confusion, and could never arrive even at a conjecture.
That happened two hundred and fourteen years ago!
Here is the brief sum of all:—This nun
sailed from Spain to Peru, and she found no rest for
the sole of her foot. This nun sailed back from
Peru to Spain, and she found no rest for the agitations
of her heart. This nun sailed again from Spain
to America, and she found—the rest which
all of us find. But where it was, could never
be made known to the father of Spanish camps, that
sat in Madrid; nor to Kate’s spiritual father,
that sat in Rome. Known it is to the great Father
that once whispered to Kate on the Andes; but else
it has been a secret for two centuries; and to man
it remains a secret for ever and ever!
There is no great event in modern history, or perhaps
it may be said more broadly, none in all history,
from its earliest records, less generally known, or
more striking to the imagination, than the flight
eastwards of a principal Tartar nation across the boundless
steppes of Asia in the latter half of the last
century. The terminus a quo of this flight,
and the terminus ad quem, are equally magnificent;
the mightiest of Christian thrones being the one,
the mightiest of Pagan the other. And the grandeur
of these two terminal objects, is harmoniously supported
by the romantic circumstances of the flight.
In the abruptness of its commencement, and the fierce
