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 enclosure. . . .
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
