and, as the casa real
was low, damp, and noisy, and, moreover, our apartment was wanted for
the schoolroom, by the advice of the padrecito we determined to abandon
it, and take up our abode in the convent.

This was a long stone building in the rear of the church, standing on
the same high table-land, overlooking the village, and removed from its
annoyances and bustle. In the part immediately adjoining the church
were two large and convenient apartments, except that, quick in
detecting all which could bring on a recurrence of fever and ague, we
noticed on one side puddles of water and green mould, from the constant
shade of the great wall of the church, and on the door of one of the
rooms was written, "Here died Don Jose Trufique: may his soul rest in
peace."

In these rooms we established ourselves. On one side of us we had the
padrecito, who was always gay and lively, and on the other six or eight
Indian sacristans, or sextons, who were always drunk. Before the door
was a broad high platform, running all round the church, and a little
beyond it was a walled enclosure for our horses. Opposite the door of
the sacristia was a thatched cocina, or kitchen, in which these Indian
church ministers cooked and Albino and Bernaldo slept.

It is ascertained by historical accounts, that at the time of the
conquest an Indian town existed in this immediate neighbourhood,
bearing the name of Nohcacab. This name is compounded of three Maya
words, signifying literally the great place of good land; and from the
numerous and extraordinary ruins scattered around, there is reason to
believe that it was the heart of a rich, and what was once an immensely
populous country. In the suburbs are numerous and large mounds, grand
enough to excite astonishment, but even more fallen and overgrown than
those of San Francisco, and, in fact, almost inaccessible.

The village stands in the same relative position to these ruins that
Ticul does to the ruins of San Francisco, and, like that, in my opinion
it stands on the offskirts of the old Indian town, or rather it
occupies part of the very site, for in the village itself, within the
enclosures of some of the Indians, are the remains of mounds exactly
like those in the suburbs. In making excavations in the plaza, vases
and vessels of pottery are continually brought to light, and in the
street wall of the house where the padrecito's mother lived is a
sculptured head dug up fifteen years ago.

The