e padre soon
accomplished his drawling work--a crucifix was pressed to her pallid
lips--the bed and floor sprinkled with holy water--a hasty _ave_ was
muttered, and they then withdrew. Fortunately, a sister had arrived a
few days previously, and it was a great consolation to the dying girl. I
drew near, and seated myself at the couch. She placed her limp little
hand in mine--told her sister to sever a tress from her hair when she
was dead--and drawing a ring from her finger, smiled faintly, saying,
_acuerdese de mi amistad_--remember me kindly. An hour passed, and I was
forced to leave--indeed, while every breath came fluttering to the lips,
weaker and weaker--I could not bear to see the last--I whispered
_adios_, kissed her pale forehead, and went away.

She expired just at midnight. During the whole period of her illness,
she never once murmured a reproach against her lover, but left him a
blessing when she died. If such beautiful devotion has not heaped coals
of fire on his head, he is less than man.

The night following her decease, I was seated on a tombstone in the
little cemetery near the port, when my eye was attracted by a flickering
torch, and advancing, I met the corpse. We made five in all. The grave
was open, and we lowered her gently down. All was still, save the
convulsive sobs of Manuela, and the rolling earth falling upon the
coffin--the dew sparkled by the reflection of the blazing torch--the
work was done--light extinguished, and mourners gone. Alas! poor
Dolores! I have preserved your tress and ring, and time has not yet
erased the remembrance of your love and sufferings from a stranger's
breast.

CHAPTER XXVII.

We could not boast of an opera, or any grand theatrical displays in
Mazatlan; but yet our sailor-troops, as sailors always do when
unemployed, had contrived a Thespian corps, and weekly representations
were given, by stout tars in whiskers and petticoats--and once a grand
tableau in commemoration of Stockton's victories at La Mesa. There was a
pretty theatre in town, where a little ranting was done, and there was
the usual Sunday resort in the cock-pit, where a deal of dollars changed
hands, but the greatest spectacle of any was in the arena, where we were
favored by brilliant feats of horsemanship, by Mr. Bill Foley, of Circo
Olimpico notoriety, in conjunction with his "ingin-rubber boy." He was a
useful, amusing vagabond, who had passed more than half his life in
Mexico, and w