n, I made the acquaintance of a
young Mexican girl, of a respectable family in Guadalajara, who had
eloped with her lover, an officer stationed in this province. She was
better educated, far more intelligent than the generality of her
countrywomen, and with all the graceful, winning ways, peculiar to
Creoles. She was living with an old relative, in a cottage near the
skirts of the town, and I frequently sought her society, listened to the
low, sweet _cancioncitas_ of her native land, or, seated beneath the
shade of a spreading tree in the inner _patio_, she would recite by the
hour old legendary redondillas and ballads of Mexico, while her servant
played with the sweeping masses of her jet-black hair: she was very
proud of it, and often told me, that when she became poor, it would
serve her for a _mantilla_. She had soft feminine features, pale
complexion, lighted by large, languid, dark eyes. She was a tall and
slender girl, but with the smallest feet I ever beheld. This was
Dolores. Her mind appeared to partake of the mournful signification of
her name, and, even during her gayest moments, she was always tinged
with sadness. Poor Lola! she was thinking of her lover, who had left
with the troops on our coming.

Returning one morning from a fatiguing night skirmish, the servant
Tomasa met me on the road, and placed a note in my hand from her
mistress. It was simply a desire to see me. Without going to the
quarters, I turned my horse's head towards the town, and soon dismounted
at the house. The old aunt received me with some agitation, and I could
see the shadow of Dolores reflected from an inner room. _Que hay Senor?
Nada, una escaramuza, no mas! Y muertos? Quien sabe! puede ser un
oficial de ustedes._--What's the news? Nothing but a skirmish. Any
killed? Yes, perhaps one of your officers. At this reply, Dolores
entered the chamber, and with a quick low voice, asked, "and the color
of his horse, senor? white!" She burst into tears, and sank to the
floor. I afterwards learned that it was her lover, who, however, had
only been slightly wounded. He had been in the habit of entering the
port disguised as an _arriero_, and was expected on the morning alluded
to. Had I known what he was capable of doing at a later day, he might
have lost the number of his mess, instead of receiving a buckshot in the
leg.

From this period, poor Dolores became more and more triste and
depressed. She never was seen again in the plaza--the mu