Pedro’s supper was well enough served, only there were neither knives nor forks. Ben supplied these from his _alforjas_, and we got on very well, or rather might have done so; but before we had fairly taken the edge off our appetites we heard a great uproar in the direction of the plaza, succeeded by the firing of guns and the whizzing discharge of bombas. I glanced round at our host, who so far from exhibiting any alarm seemed to be mightily exultant. I had made up my mind to be surprised at nothing, and so asked no questions. Meantime the tumult increased, and the squeaking of violins was to be heard in the pauses of the shouting and firing. By-and-by we distinguished “_Vivan los Estados Unidos!_” “_Vivan los Americanos del Norte!_” and the appalling consciousness was forced upon us that we were to be lionized forthwith, and supper but half finished! I appealed to Pedro to shut the door and say we were ill, and would see the people in the morning; but he either did not understand, or affected not to do so, and before I could explain, the crowd was at the entrance, and pouring into our apartment. The alcaldes came first, and a dozen fiddlers followed. Then came the people in solid column, while the outsiders kept up a perfect storm of vivas,—their upturned, swarthy faces looking singularly wild and forbidding under the light of their torches. Not a tithe was able to enter, yet every one seemed determined to find a place inside, and crowded one upon the other to such a degree that we should have been suffocated outright, had not the alcaldes formed a cordon around us, and kept off the crowd with their canes. The principal or first alcalde, made a speech, full of welcome, and well spiced with patriotism, in which he called us, and all the people of the United States, collectively and individually, friends and brothers, and a great many other endearing names, which I have forgotten; and then everybody wanted to shake hands, and thrust them forward over the heads and under the arms of the front rank, a hundred at a time. But as our visitors generally did not seem to have any clear conception as to which of the party was the illustrious object of their homage, I instructed my companions to shake all the hands within their reach, and pass the owners on. In this wise, and by causing Pedro to invite the entire crowd to drink my health, at my expense, at the next _pulperia_, I finally succeeded in clearing the house,—but our chocolate was cold, and some of our worthy visitors had availed themselves of the “noise and confusion” to pocket all the baked meats. And as we sat disconsolately waiting for more to be cooked, we voted the system of lionizing a bore, and M. quoted Shakspeare: “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” with variations suited to our present condition.