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 against Santa Anna's bird, the broker was called to his box and an aid-de-camp covered it. Besides these bets, the General usually had some standing ones agreed on beforehand with the owners of other cocks; and in this manner five or six thousand dollars were lost or won by him in the pit daily. Seven mains of cocks were fought each day—the President seeming to relish the sport vastly, while his aids were highly exited, and the ladies looked on with evident gusto.

Nothing can be more grossly mean than a passion for cock fighting. A bull fight, brutal and bloody as it is, has still something noble in the contest between the man and the animal; there is a trial of skill, and often a trial for life. Horse racing is a beautiful sport, it is both exciting and useful; and the breed of a noble animal is cherished and improved by it. But to see grown men, and among them the chiefs of a nation, sit down quietly to watch two birds kick each other to death with slashers and spurs, in order to make money out of the victory of one of them, is too contemptible to be sanctioned or apologized for in any way, except by old traditionary customs. Such were the old customs of Mexico. Their fathers gambled—they gamble. Their fathers fought fowls—they fight fowls; and if you speak to them of it, they shrug their shoulders, with a "pues que?"—"what will you?"

It is with pleasure, however, that I record one pleasant scene at least in this festival of St. Augustin. On the second day I did not go out early in the morning, but took a place in the diligence at half-past two P. M., reaching the village in a couple of hours. Disgusted with the gambling scenes and the cock-pit, I went only to see the Calvario, or ball given every afternoon at the Calvary, which adjoins the village on the west.

We walked to this spot through beautiful lanes of Oriental-looking houses, bowered among groves of orange and jasmine, and arrived about six o'clock. As the people were just assembling we strolled up the green hills, traversed by streams of crystal water, until we reached an eminence above the village, bosomed in an eternal shade, from which peeped out the white walls of the houses and azotéas, covered with the roost beautiful and fragrant flowers. Across the valley, the eye rested on the silvery line of Tezcoco, and as the slanting rays of the sun fell over the soft midland-view, and athwart the hills through the gaps of the western mountains, lighting the ravines, and throwing the bold peaks in shadow, I thought I had never beheld a more perfect picture drawn from fancy of the peace and beauty of a "Happy Valley." It was soon enlivened by figures, and became a scene worthy of the fairy fancy of Watteau.

From the top of Calvary, the hill-side sloped down amphitheatrically to a level meadow, a bow-shot in width, closed on the east and west by trees in their freshest foliage, and terminated at the north by a garden and azotéa just peeping over the leaves of an orange grove. On the side of