few days before, dilated, in the most attractive manner, on a sport which I passionately loved. The time did not seem to me suitable for making any inquiry of the evangelist, and I thought it best not to approach the three. I consequently remained a few paces from the booth, waiting patiently till the visitor would take his departure. The man, with whom an hour or two's chat had made me acquainted, had inspired me with a certain degree of interest. He was about forty years of age. His features were marked with a certain kind of nobility, in spite of a sarcastic expression which he sometimes threw into them. Although I might have forgotten we had ever met, the odd costume in which he was habited stamped him on my recollection. At the bull-fight he wore a wide-flowing blue cloak, lined with red, and on his head an enormous sombrero of yellow vicuna cloth, trimmed with-gold lace.
"For whom is the letter, my dear?" he asked of the China, somewhat authoritatively.
The girl pointed to the prison of the presidential palace, and muttered a name which I did not catch.
"Ah! for Pepito?" said the unknown, aloud.
"Alas! yes; and I don't know how to get it conveyed to him," replied the girl.
"Well, never despair. Here's an opportunity that Heaven sends you."
At this moment the people hastily left the galleries, and scattered themselves hastily upon the Plaza Mayor. What motive had they for leaving? The commission of a deed but too common in Mexico; an assassination had been perpetrated on the public street. They had seized the murderer, raised the victim, and the melancholy cortege was on its way to the nearest prison. This place of confinement happened to be pre-
