We soon left the pikemen behind us; and our horses flying at full speed, a thick cloud of dust soon hid us from their sight. Once at Mexico, it may be easily understood that we did not part without agreeing to meet again. A card-table, it must be owned, is rather an extraordinary place for one to strike up a friendship with a monk.
The acquaintance thus commenced promised to be agreeable, and a few days after our first meeting I repaired to the convent of St. Francisco, the abode of my friend. After this visit I went often, at first for the Franciscan's sake, and afterward to see the convent, the most beautiful building of the kind in Mexico. To tell the truth, Fray Serapio was seldom in his cell; but his friendship insured me a constant welcome at the monastery, the library of which possessed inexhaustible treasures.
None of the religious communities scattered over Mexico is so rich or powerful as that of St. Francis. The vast extent of ground covered by the Franciscan convents in all the large towns, and the massive walls, crowned with numerous turrets, which surround them, are sufficient indications of the power and wealth of the order. The monastery to which chance had introduced me is at once worthy of the community that owns it, and of the capital of which it is one of the chief ornaments. The street of San Francisco, which leads to the cloister of this name, is a continuation of that crowded commercial street, the Plateros. The cloister, happily situated in the most stirring part of the town, rises at the extremity of the street Francisco, and extends as far as the entrance to the Alameda. The thick walls, flanked with massive buttresses, give to the convent the appearance of a fortress. At the
