The cockpit was a small round wooden shed, with the ring in the middle, and circular benches round it, rising one above another.  The place was full of people, mostly Mexicans of the lower orders, smoking, betting, and talking sporting-slang.  The betting was surprising, when one compared its amount with the appearance of the spectators, among whom there was hardly a decent coat to be seen.  Every now and then, a dirty scoundrel in a shabby leather jacket would walk round the ring with a handful of gold, offering the odds—­ten to five, ten to seven, ten to nine, or whatever they might be, in gold ounces, which coins are worth above three pounds apiece.

Cockfighting is such a passion here that we thought it as well to see it for once.  Santa Ana, now he has retired from politics, spends his time at Carthagena pretty much entirely in this his favourite sport, which forms one of the great items among the pleasures and excitements of a Mexican life.  We saw a couple of mains fought, in which the victorious birds were dreadfully mangled, while the vanquished were literally cut to pieces; as much money changed hands as we should have thought sufficient to buy up the whole of the people present, cockpit and all.  Then, being both agreed that it was a disgusting sight, we went away.

Before we left Mexico we were taken by our man Antonio to a cutler’s shop, where the principal trade seemed to be the making of these cuchillos to arm the cocks with.  We bought a couple of pairs of them, and had them carefully fitted up.  The old cutler was quite delighted, and remarked that foreigners must acknowledge that there were some things which were done better in Mexico than anywhere else.  I fear we left him under the pleasing impression that we were taking home the blades to introduce as models in our own benighted country.

The Mexican is a great gambler.  Bad fortune he bears with the greatest equanimity.  You never hear of his committing suicide after being ruined at play; he just goes away, and sets to work to earn enough for a fresh stake.  The government have tried to put down gambling in the State of Mexico, but not with much success.  For three days in the year, however, at the festival of San Agustin de las Cuevas, public gambling-tables are tolerated, though soldiers and officials are strictly forbidden to play, an injunction which they carefully set at nought.  Oddly enough, the government, while doing all it could to keep its own functionaries away from the monte table, did not scruple to send a military escort to convoy the bankers with their bags of gold from Mexico to San Agustin.  On one of the three days, Mr. Christy and I went there.  There was a great crowd, this time mostly a well-dressed one, and the cockpit was on a large scale.  But of course the great attraction was the monte, which was being played everywhere, the stakes in some places being coppers, in others silver, while more aristocratic establishments