Among the guajiros, monteros, and poor whites generally,--and I believe also amongst the Catholic negroes,--a ceremony takes place on the night between the death and the funeral (which, by the way, always occurs within twenty-four hours), which bears a strong resemblance to an Irish wake: it is called a _velorio_; literally, watch or wake. The friends and relatives gather round the coffin, and spend the night watching by the body, which is placed in the centre of the chamber, the coffin being unclosed, covered with wreaths of flowers and bouquets, and flanked by six lighted candles. Originally this ceremony, like the Irish wake, was doubtless intended to be of a highly devotional character, but it has degenerated, by degrees, into a sort of orgie. A table covered with viands is set at one end of the room, and close to it stands another of still greater importance, bearing numerous bottles of aguardiente, gin, and wine. Frequent libations to the health of the departed soul soon produce their effect, and the family begins to express its grief in the most uproarious manner, by dismal exclamations, hair-tearing, and breast-beating. They address the dead as if he were still living. "Ah! my poor darling," they say, "don't make any mistake. We are sorry indeed to lose you, but at present you see we are preparing the funeral baked meats for those who loved you less than we do. When they have all got their drinks, we will return, so don't be impatient. By and by we will howl dismally enough to please you." (_Luego te vamos gritar_.) As the night wanes, and the aguardiente grows lower in the queer-looking bottles, the company can no longer restrain its grief. Everybody becomes inconsolable at once. When dawn comes, and with it the confraternities and the cura, to fetch the coffin, they not unfrequently find the company singing, dancing, and shouting as if possessed. And here I may observe that the Cubans can drink more aguardiente and gin, without showing any unsteadiness, than any other people on the face of the earth. They contrive to keep their legs at all events, though I am afraid they very frequently lose their heads. Nothing more dismal can be imagined than a Cuban cemetery, which is usually located in the most arid spot in the neighbourhood of town or village. The Cubans never dream of planting a tree or a shrub near the graves of their lamented, for whom, by the way, they wear official mourning about six times as long as in any other country. At one extremity of the cemetery invariably stands the unpretentious chapel. In the centre is the common field, where the poor and the coloured Catholics are buried,--no heretic being allowed to rest in this cheerless campo santo. The wealthier among the departed are commemorated by funereal monuments and slabs inserted in the wall surrounding the grave-yard, which give their titles at full length, and most unstintingly commend their virtues.