and has five churches attached to it. You enter a gate, pass through the great, silent, and grass-grown court-up the broad stair-case, and enter the long, arched cloisters, lighted by one dim lamp, where everything seems to breathe a religious repose. . . .

The padre-prior, seated alone in his cell, with a thick and richly-clasped volume before him, a single lamp on his table, on the wall a crucifix, plain but decent furniture, with his bald head, and pale, impressive face, would have made a fine study for a painter. By such men, the embers of learning and of science were nursed into a faint but steady flame, burning through the long, gloomy night of the dark ages, unseen by profane eyes, like the vestal fire in Pagan temples.

A small room, opening into his little parlor, contains his bed, on which is a mattress; for the padres do not perform such acts of self-denial and penitence as the cloistered nuns - and I am assured that his cigars are genuine Havana. . . .

Beggars lounging within the court-yard-a group of monks talking together within the walled enclo

sure.

Change the scene to the monastery of San Agustin, and you might fancy yourself in the days of one of Walter Scott's romances, in the mélange of soldiers and friars; for here His Excellency the President has his temporary abode; and the torch-light gleams brightly on the swarthy faces of the soldiers, some lying on the ground enveloped in their cloaks; others keeping guard before the convent gate. This convent is also very large, but not so immense as that of

San Francisco. The padre prior is a good little old man, but has not the impressive, ascetic visage of the guardian of the other convent. His room is as simple, though not in such perfect order; and his bed is also furnished with a comfortable mattress. An air half military, half monkish, pervades the convent — aids-de-camp of the President passing along the galleries, their uniforms contrasting with the dark robe of a passing monk, returning at night-fall to his cell.

The President had an alarm the night preceding, the prisoners in the jail having broken out. A serious affray had been expected, and everything was prepared for putting the person of the President in safety. The back stairs and secret passages in these old convents lead to excellent hiding-places, and have been put to frequent use during the revolutions. In the old Monte Pio there is a communication with a convent of nuns, and in cases of pillage, the jewels used to be carried by a private staircase out of Monte Pio, and placed under the care of the nuns of Santa Brigida.

The convent of la Profesa is also a fine and spacious building, but excepting that it has a greater number of good paintings than the others, when you have seen one, you have seen all, and I believe none are as large as that founded by the illegitimate scion of the Imperial Charles, who himself ended his days. in a similar retreat.

LETTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.

Dia de Muertos - Leave Mexico

Herraderos - San Cristobal - Tunas Plaza de toros Throwing the laso-Accidents -Rustic breakfast - Country fare. Baked meat- - Indian market - Buried bull - Mountain - Solitary hacienda - Reyes - Mules marked - Return - Queen of Spain's birth-dayDiplomatic dinner,

SANTIAGO, November 3d.

YESTERDAY, the second of November, a day which for eight centuries has been set apart in the Catholic Church for commemorating the dead, the day emphatically known as the "Dia de Muertos," the churches throughout all the Republic of Mexico present a gloomy spectacle; darkened and hung with black cloth, while in the middle aisle is a coffin, covered also with black, and painted with skulls and other emblems of mortality. Every one attends church in mourning, and considering the common lot of humanity, there is, perhaps, not one heart over the whole Catholic world, which is not wrung that day, in calling up the memory of the departed.

After early mass, we set off for Santiago, where we intend to spend a week, to be present at the Herraderos — the marking of the bulls with a hot iron with the initials of the proprietor's name; stamping them with the badge of slavery-which is said to be an extraordinary scene; to which all rancheros

and Indians look forward with the greatest delight. We had a very pleasant journey here, leaving Mexico at six in the morning, and travelling at the usual rate, with seven horses and plenty of mozos. Indeed, no one attempts a journey of any length into the country, without at least six horses or mules.

Near Sopayuca, while they were changing horses, we went to mass, in the picturesque church of San Cristobal. The magnificence of these places of worship is extraordinary. Here was this country church crowded with léperos, the officiating priests, Indians with bare feet; yet the building large and rich, hung with black cloth, and lighted with great tapers which threw their gloomy rays on as much of the rich gilding that encrusted the walls, as the dark pall left visible.

We got into the carriage a basket of that most refreshing of fruits, the tuna, which grow wild in abundance all over the country. The first time I unwarily pulled them off the trees, I got my fingers full of the innumerable little prickles which cover the skin, and which it is very difficult to get rid of. The Indians have great dexterity in gathering and peeling them. There is the green and the red tuna; the last the prettiest to look at, but not nearly so agreeable a fruit as the other.

When we arrived at Santiago, we sat down to dinner to the number of about fifty persons, and in the room next us, was a party still larger, of lower degree, for all the world has come to be present at this annual festivity.

6th. — The next morning we set off early to the

THROWING THE LASO.

19

plaza de toros. The day was fresh and exhilarating. All the country people from several leagues round were assembled, and the trees up to their very topmost branches presented a collection of bronze faces and black eyes, belonging to the Indians, who had taken their places there as comfortably as spectators in a one-shilling gallery. A platform opposite ours, was filled with the wives and daughters of agents and small farmers, little rancheras, with short white gowns and rebosos. There was a very tolerable band of music, perched upon a natural orchestra. Bernardo and his men were walking and riding about, and preparing for action. Nothing could be more picturesque than the whole scene.

Seven hundred bulls were driven in from the plains, bellowing loudly, so that the air was filled with their fierce music. The universal love which the Mexicans have for these sports, amounts to a passion. All their money is reserved to buy new dresses for this occasion, silver rolls or gold linings for their hats, or new deerskin pantaloons and embroidered jackets with silver buttons. The accidents that happen are innumerable, but nothing damps their ardor. It beats fox hunting. The most striking part of the scene is the extraordinary facility which these men show in throwing the laso. The bulls being all driven into an enclosure one after another, and sometimes two or three at a time were chosen from amongst them, and driven into the plaza, where they were received with shouts of applause if they appeared fierce, and likely to afford good sport, or of irony if they turned to fly, which happened more than once.