The idea of getting the crowd off to the pulperia we all thought was a particularly happy one; but the sequel proved otherwise. In half an hour our admiring friends, greatly augmented in numbers, all returned; and if they were fervent and enthusiastic before, what were they now? I appeared on the steps of the house and bowed low, and retired. But bows wouldn’t answer. Nothing short of a grand procession would furnish an adequate vent to the overflowing feelings of the citizens. Pedro begged for my flag, while messengers were despatched to the Californians at the posada, to solicit their participation in the grand “obsequio.” Pending the completion of the arrangements, the crowd continued to increase, completely choking up the street for an entire block. The confusion was dire; the violinists played as if working for their lives, while bombas were let off as fast as they could be collected. Finally, the Californians, refreshed by an ample supper, made their appearance, and at once fell into the spirit of the affair. The flag was unfurled at the head of the column, surrounded by an armed guard of honor; next came the officers and the _musicos_, and then, as the programmes at home say, “the citizens generally.” The procession marched through all the principal streets, hurrahing at every corner for “El Norte,” the “bello sexo,” “Gen. Taylor,” the “Supreme Government,” in fact for nearly everything, but particularly for the “glorious flag of the North.” The national anthem was sung in the plaza, the multitude joining in the chorus with almost frantic fervor, and then the Californians were called upon to sing the national air of the United States, but being unable to give it to their own satisfaction, they sang “Dearest May” instead, with great applause, and as Pedro afterwards told us, “con mucho espiritu,” with great spirit!