The streets are well laid out, and clean; but grass grows in the centre of the most frequented. The same style of building is observed here as in other parts of this country that I have visited. The houses are principally of one story, flat roofs, large doors, and barred windows; with court-yards, stone and mortar floors, &c. Many large houses in the chief streets, within sight of the square, were fast going to decay. There are no societies, or private or public places of instruction or amusement. This is singular, when it is considered that the native inhabitants speak of their _noble_ city, as they term it, with great pride, and call themselves the _élite_ of Yucatan. This point I am not prepared to dispute. It is certain, however, that the city, or its society, presents few evidences of the schoolmaster having been abroad among them. The suburbs, or “barrios” as they are locally called, are five in number; each having a church and its attendant priest. The population, with a very few exceptions, is composed of poor Indians, the major part of whom, of both sexes, go habitually _in puris naturalibus_, or nearly so; living in mean huts, and supporting large and expensive churches; while they themselves appear to be contented to subsist alone upon corn and water. In the barrio Sisal is the ruin of an old convent. Its crumbling walls tell of changes that are slowly developing themselves in the civilized world. It was an immense structure in its time, covering a space of two acres, enclosed within a high stone wall; and remains a painful monument of the mighty power which the order of Loyola, its original proprietors, once exercised upon the destinies of this country. All that is now left is the church, and the house of the priest. The cloisters, corridors, and squares, are all fast going to pieces; and fragments of them are lying about in every direction. Its spacious halls are now the abode of the poor Indian, who aspires to a portion of the hallowed influence which is reputed to hang around its dilapidated walls. The crumbling turrets and blackened domes are covered with a wild vegetation, and have become a perch for the buzzard, and the hiding-place for loathsome reptiles. One of the wells connected with the monastery is dug through a solid rock to the depth of one hundred and fifty feet, when it opens upon a subterraneous river of pure water. In former times, a handsome temple was erected over it; the remains of a part of its dome still exist. There are not many pleasing associations connected with these places.