f the saint
and his priesthood. Indeed, there is now no public gambling, not even
in the city of Mexico, except the lottery of the Academy of Fine Arts,
and the lottery which is monthly drawn to promote the adoration of our
Lady of Guadalupe. This last is one of the most corrupting of all
lotteries. Tickets for as small a price as a Spanish shilling are
hawked about the street, and by the exhibition of a splendid scheme the
poor Indians are tempted to venture their last _real_ in the hopes of
winning a rich prize, through the kind interposition of the Virgin, to
whom they are taught to pray for that purpose. It is true that a mass
is performed for the benefit of all losers, but this mass has never had
the power of restoring to the poor Indian his lost shilling.

Let us now go from this place, where gambling used annually to have its
festival, or, rather, harvest of victims, into the cathedral church of
San Augustine, to whom the lucky gamblers were accustomed to dedicate a
part of their winnings, that thus they might sanctify their unrighteous
calling by bringing robbery to the saint for an offering. Poor saint!
how much he and his priests have suffered by this wanton interference
of the civil government in Church affairs--this prohibition of
monte-playing in honor of the festival of San Augustine! There was much
in this church to admire, and much of that gold displayed which
gamblers are accustomed to lavish upon their idols. It seemed like
another worship and another religion from that which I had been
accustomed to witness in the humble chapels of the Pintos, in whose
country I had so long been wandering.

Again I was in the saddle, and soon upon that noted causeway by which
Cortez entered the city of Mexico. It has lost none of its attractions
in the course of centuries, but has been kept in fine repair as a
carriage-road, while the venerable trees that line it on either side
look as old as the time of the Conquistadors. This noble carriage-way,
through the marshy ground of the valley of Mexico, is an enlargement of
the old causeway of the Indians, or, rather, it has been built over and
around it, that having been less than thirty feet in width. I soon
arrived at Churubusco, the scene of one of the bloody battles of the
American campaign in this valley. There was little here to look at, and
I hurried on and entered the south gate of the city, and soon arrived
at the _Hotel de Paris_, to which I had been directed. M