ntroduce the valuable and beautiful labor-saving
improvements now in operation in Europe and the United States, where the
same work could be accomplished by fewer persons, executed certainly at
infinitely less expense, and with far greater facility and despatch.

I saw vast piles of pure metal in the vaults, and uncountable masses of
dollars. Before leaving, I was introduced to Mr. Bruff, treasurer to the
institution, who, with Mr. Jones, treated me with every attention and
civility.

Our _Fonda de la diligencia_ was well kept, commodious and respectable;
we sat down to the ordinary as a multitude of sweet-sounding bells were
ringing and chiming away with their brazen throats for evening vespers,
and after partaking of a Frenchified Mexican dinner, I sallied out for a
walk. My companion knew the town, but in wandering about the steep
angular elevations, I never dared to look up without catching hold of a
balcony or leaning against a wall, fearful of becoming dizzy, and
tumbling down somewhere.

Entering the _gran sociedad_, we passed through a long suite of bright
saloons--nearly suffocated by cigar smoke, or deafened by the incessant
clicking of billiard balls--when we came to the monte and loto rooms.
Here were grouped around a dozen different tables hundreds of players,
from the plumed hats and shining lace of officers, to the mean dirty
serapas of soldiers and leperos; all, however, earnestly intent marking
with grains of corn the numbers on the cards, as they were yelled forth
by the loto man, who was seated on a raised platform at one end of the
hall, watching the little ivory spheres as they dropped one by one out
of a cylindrical box revolving before him. Further on were the monteros
at work--with heaps of gold and silver piled around--with eager faces,
compressed lips, and glittering eyes absorbed in the intense interest of
the game--not a word or gesture save the dull monotonous voice of the
dealers, like to the tolling of a bell--_Juego senores! se va!_ with
eyes that never winked and lids rigid as sheet-iron. The cards were
pulled slowly and carefully one from the other, until the game was
decided, when took place the rattling chink of coins, with maybe the
deep uttered _carajo!_ of some unlucky wight who has lost a last stake;
yet even he pursues the easy dignity of his race, rolls and lights a
cigarrillo, draws his cloak around him, raises his sombrero gracefully,
and with a polite _Hasta manana senores!