Reasons, does it deserve its title of the suburb of St. Lazarus.
Presently we passed something lying on the ground in the shadow of a court-yard, with a large-sized sombrero slouched upon its face. It seemed awfully motionless as I stooped down to gaze upon it; the limbs were rigid, the hands clenched, and blood was flowing on the earth beside it,—yet it attracted little or no attention from the residents and passers-by. It was the body of a murdered man who had just perished in a gaming quarrel; and it would be removed, most likely in company with one or two victims from other quarters, to the Morgue, before morning.
The streets gradually improved in appearance as we advanced; and as our jaded limbs, as well as the faltering steps of our animals, attested our need of rest, I looked wistfully round for some friendly and cleanly Meson, or boarding-inn, where we could take up our abode for the night: not without a melancholy foreboding, however, recollecting the detestable accommodations I had shared at innumerable places on my journey.
"But the 'Hotel of the Blood of Christ!'" thought I, interpreting a pompous and
