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HE city of Tlascala, the capital of the republic of the same name, lay at the distance of about six leagues from the Spanish camp. The road led into a hilly region, exhibiting in every arable patch of ground the evidence of laborious cultivation. Over a deep barranca, or ravine, they crossed on a bridge of stone, which, according to tradition—a slippery authority—is the same still standing, and was constructed originally for the passage of the army.1 They passed some considerable towns on their route, where they experienced a full measure of Indian hospitality. As they advanced, the approach to a populous city was intimated by the crowds who flocked out to see and welcome the strangers; men and women in their picturesque dresses, with bunches and wreaths of roses, which they gave to the Spaniards, or fastened to the necks and caparisons of their horses, in the same manner as at Cempoalla. Priests, with their white robes, and long matted tresses floating over them, mingled in the crowd, scattering volumes of incense from their burning censers. In this way, the multitudinous and motley procession defiled through the gates of the ancient capital of Tlascala. It was September 23, 1519, the anniversary of which is still celebrated by the inhabitants as a day of jubilee.2

The press was now so great, that it was with difficulty the police of the city could clear a passage for the army; while the azoteas. or flat-terraced roofs of the buildings, were covered with spectators eager to catch a glimpse of the wonderful strangers. The house: were hung with festoons of flowers, and arches of verdant boughs intertwined with roses and honeysuckle, were thrown across the