Who could wonder at the reluctance? We only wondered at the soft speeches, instead of the hard blows we had been led to expect from them. All along the route, Puebla had been proclaimed as the point where we were to be brought to bay. There we should have to encounter the sons of the _tierra templada_; and our laurels, cheaply gathered at Vera Cruz and Cerro Gordo, from the enervated children of the _tierra caliente_, would be snatched from our brows by the "_valientes_" of La Puebla. The saints of the "holy city" had been promised a hecatomb; and we expected, at least something in the shape of a fight. We were disappointed--I will not say disagreeably: for, after all, fighting is not the most desirable duty to be performed in a campaign-- especially on the eve of entering into some grand town of the enemy. In my opinion, it is far pleasanter to find the streets clear of obstructions, the pavement without blood spots--although they may be those of the foe--the shops and restaurants open, especially the latter--and the windows filled with fair forms and smiling faces. After this fashion were we received in the _City of the Angels_. There were no barricades--no street fighting--no obstructions of any kind. The fair forms were there, seen in shadow behind the iron _rejas_, or standing in full light in the _balcons_ above. Many of the faces, too, were fair; though I shall not go so far as to assert, that any of them were _smiling_. It would be nearer the truth to say that most, if not all of them, looked frowningly upon us. It was a cold reception: but the wonder was that we were received at all, or not more warmly welcomed--in a different sense. Horse and foot all told, we counted scarce three thousand weary warriors--stirred for the moment into a spasmodic activity by the sound of our drums, the thought of being conquerors, and perhaps a little by the battery of bright eyes before which we were paraded. We were marching through the streets of a city of more than sixty thousand inhabitants, with houses enough to hold twice the number; grand massive dwellings with frescoed fronts, that rose frowningly above us--each capable of being converted into a fortress. A city lately guarded by choice troops, and whose own fighting men outnumbered us ten to one! Its women alone might have overwhelmed us, had each but pitched a projectile--her cigarito or slipper--upon our heads. They looked as if they _would_ have annihilated us! And yet we did not run the gauntlet altogether unscathed--not all of us. Some received wounds in the course of that triumphal entry, that rankled long after. They were wounds of the heart, inflicted by those soft love-speaking eyes, for which the Poblana is peculiar. I can testify to one heart thus sweetly scathed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------