ed la Calle de la Vieja, or the Street of
the Old Woman. That in which we lived had on the corner house a
flamingo, and was called the Street of the Flamingo; and the reason of
the streets being named in this way gives some idea of the character of
the people. The great mass of the inhabitants, universally the Indians,
cannot read. Printed signs would be of no use, but every Indian knows
the sign of an elephant, a bull, or a flamingo.

In the front wall of a house in a street running north from the plaza,
and also in a corner house near the square of the Alameda, are
sculptured figures from the ruins of ancient buildings, of which Mr.
Catherwood made drawings, but, in the multiplicity of other subjects,
we do not think it worth while to present them to the reader.

The great distinguishing feature of Merida, as of all the cities of
Spanish America, is in its churches. The great Cathedral; the parish
church and convent of San Cristoval; the church of the Jesuits; the
church and convent of the Mejorada; the chapels of San Juan Bautista;
of Our Lady of Candelaria; of the Santa Lucia and the Virgin, and the
convent de las monjas, or the nunnery, with its church and enclosures
occupying two whole squares, are all interesting in their history. Some
are of good style in architecture, and rich in ornaments; but there is
one other, not yet mentioned, which I regard as the most interesting
and remarkable edifice in Merida. It is the old Franciscan convent. It
stands on an eminence in the eastern part of the city, and is enclosed
by a high wall, with turrets, forming what is now called the Castillo.
These walls and turrets are still erect, but within is ruin
irretrievable.

In 1820 the new constitution obtained by the patriots in Spain reached
the colonies, and on the 30th of May Don Juan Rivas Vertiz, then Gefe
Politico, and now living in Merida, a fine memorial of the olden time,
published it in the plaza. The church sustained the old order of
things, and the Franciscan friars, confident in their hold upon the
feelings of the populace, endeavoured to put down the demonstration of
liberal feeling. A mob gathered in the plaza; friars appeared among
them, urging them on; field-pieces were brought out, the mob dispersed,
and Don Juan Rivas marched to the Franciscan convent, opened the doors,
drove out the monks, above 300 in number, at the point of the bayonet,
and gave up the building to destruction. The superior and some of the