choly life which Fray Epigmenio had been afterward doomed to lead, were the unhappy consequences of the shameful intrigue hatched in the very convent in which we now were. Such was my commentary on Fray Serapio's story; but he, with an obstinacy only equaled by his credulity, held fast by his own interpretation.
Next morning we arrived at the hacienda of the friend of Don Diego Mercado, where the cordial reception we experienced soon made us forget the dangers and sufferings of the previous night.
On my return to Mexico I resumed my visits to the convent of St. Francis, and I read with more interest than ever the narratives preserved in these valuable archives, for I had now a thorough conviction that the old Spanish fanaticism, of which there were many instances in these documents, had still firm root in the minds of the people of Mexico. There is a close connection between the past and present race of the in habitants of the cloisters, which the frivolous manners of the monks, as seen by me in the streets of Mexico, had not led me to suspect. The Inquisition has passed away, but it has left in the clergy a well-defined outline, a singularly deep-rooted tradition of demoralization, superstitious ignorance, and fanaticism.
Every time I went to the convent of St. Francis I met Fray Epigmenio, sometimes in the cloisters, some times sunk in reverie in the arbor. One day, however, I traversed the whole convent in search of him, but in vain. Just as I was quitting it I met Fray Serapio. The presence of the Franciscan in his convent was so very rare an occurrence that I could not help inquiring why he had condescended so far as to break through his usual habits.
"It is a pity," cried Fray Serapio, "but don't ask
