They say, he came with an old sabre of flint--I don't know the name; it belonged to some king in the family. Then Calleja, whom they made viceroy--the devil confound him! (He cut my uncle's throat, with some fourteen thousand others, at Guanaxuato, one day, to save powder.)--Calleja chased Hidalgo to Aculco, and, there, he beat him. Cristobal's brother (he _had_ a brother, a very fine young fellow, a patriot major;) was killed at Cristobal's side; Cristobal was knocked on the head,--somebody said, with his own royal weapon:--I don't know,--where's the difference? They broke his skull, and took him prisoner. _Y pues?_ what then? Being a notorious crazy man, and very savagely mauled, they did not hang him. Ever since, he has been madder than ever. He writes histories, and, to save them from viceroys, (he takes all our presidents for viceroys: to my mind, they _are_; but that's nothing. You know Bustamente? a mighty great man: Santa Anna will beat him--but don't say so!) Well, to save his books from the president-viceroys, or viceroy-presidents, Cristobal offers them to every body he meets, with a petition to take them over the seas and publish them.--That's all!--The Indians at the hacienda love him, and take care of him.--Ha, ha! he caught you, did he? What did he say?" "He gave me his books," said the traveller. "_Fuego!_ you took them? Ha, ha! now will the poor padre die happy!" "I will return them to his relations." "Relations! they are all in heaven; he is the last of the Ixtlilxochitls! Ha, ha! I beg your pardon, amigo mio! I beg your pardon; but if you offer them to any body, never believe me, but folks will take you for Cristobal the Second, _el segundo maniatico_, or some one he has hired to do the work of donation. Ha, ha! cielo mio, pity me! say nothing about it;--burn them." "At least, let us look over them." "_Olla podrida!_ look over a beggar's back! a pedler's sack! or a dictionary!--Any thing reasonable. Burn them; or take them to America, to your North, and deposit them in a museum, as the commonplace books of Montezuma. _Vamos; que me manda vm.?_ will you ride to the Alameda?--Pobre Cristobal! he will die happy----"