l procession, with its priests, crucifix and tapers, the dead
being carried by several persons on a bier, and followed by a few
peasants. The travelers drew up their horses close to the adjacent
wall, to leave room for the procession. The face of the dead was
uncovered as usual, and the friar's dress which clothed the body, with
the rosaries and other paraphernalia displayed about his person, led
Lady Mabel to say, "I see that one of the good fathers is gone to his
account."

"He will now find out," said Moodie, "the worth of his beads, crucifix
and holy water."

"I am surprised," said Lady Mabel, "at so unpretending a funeral, in
the case of a member of the great order of St. Francis."

L'Isle asked a question of a Portuguese standing near, and then said,
"The cowl does not make the monk, nor must you infer from his dress
that this man was a friar. He lived all his life a peasant in a
neighboring village."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Lady Mabel.

"Almost every one," said L'Isle, as they turned to ride on their way,
"here and throughout the Peninsula, is buried in a religious
habit--the men in the uniform of friars, the women dressed like
pilgrims, and the girls like nuns. They are loaded with a freight of
rosaries, _agni dei_, and other saintly jewelry, fastened to the neck,
hands and feet, and stuffed into the clothes. Convents have often a
warehouse appropriated to this posthumous wardrobe, in the sale of
which they drive a profitable trade. It was a most natural mistake
made by a stranger, who, after being a few weeks at Madrid, and seeing
so many Franciscans interred, expressed his astonishment at the
prodigious number of them in the city, and asked if their order was
not entirely carried off by this violent epidemic."

"I suppose," said Lady Mabel, "the custom originated in the propensity
so strong in us all, to live sinners and die saints."

"Exactly so," L'Isle answered; "it is a fraudulent custom, old as the
fifth century, and common in popish countries. It is nothing less than
an attempt to cheat St. Peter, who, you know, keeps the keys of
heaven, by knocking at the gate in the disguise of a monk or a friar."

"I have too much faith in St. Peter's vigilance and penetration," said
Mrs. Shortridge, "to think he has ever been so taken in."

They presently got out of the city; but, to Moodie's displeasure, by a
gate opposite to that by which they had entered it. He was still more
annoyed, when, on coming to a