the lobby. Their officer in command entered the
box from which I had just issued, and the door
of which faced the open door of the saloon
where I was. He returned immediately, with
a tall dark man who had been sitting near me,
and who I knew was the minister of war. The
soldiers advanced; the minister of war was placed
between their files and marched off to prison.

"Egad!" thought I, "this is a pleasant
country, where one goes from the opera to
prison:—or is this, perhaps, another mistake?"

I was still, as orientals say, biting the finger
of surprise at the arrest I had just witnessed,
when back came the major. With him was the
handsome young Spaniard, who had accused me
of saying something which was not polite.
He was looking quite satisfied now; but his
right arm was in a sling, a circumstance I
certainly had not observed when he spoke to me
before. His face wore a bland smile, however,
and, taking off his hat with his left hand, he said:

"Monsieur, I learn there has been a mistake.
It appears that I deceived myself. Monsieur
had no intention——"

"Monsieur," said I, interrupting him, "I
could have had no intention of doing or saying
anything disagreeable to a gentleman who is, I
believe, an entire stranger to me."

Thereupon the Spaniard bowed, and replaced
his hat. We both then bowed, and he withdrew,
with the air of one who had had a most
gratifying interview.

"There's the end of the affair, I suppose,"
said I to the major; "and now it's over, I hope,
as you seem to know, you will tell me what
the deuce it is all about."

"Well, you see," said the major, "I heard
it all from a friend, before I met you in the refreshment
room. When you crossed over to the box
where Iñez was sitting, Enriquez—that's the
Spaniard's name—followed you. He won't let
any one have a tête-à-tête with Iñez, you know.
Well, he asked you how you liked Venezuela,
and you said—I forget what you said; but I
know I have had a man out for less."

"But, since Enriquez is a Spaniard, what
did it matter to him what I thought about
Venezuela? It must be a mistake, after all."

"No, faith!" cried the major, impatiently;
"it is true enough. But I know you didn't
mane to offend Enriquez, and so I told him, or
you wouldn't have forgotten all about it. But
he said you did mane it, so I told him I'd
prove it to him you didn't, if he'd step across
the street to the house of a friend where
we could find a couple of rapiers and
some one to see fair play. We went, and at
the first pass I ran him through the sword-arm,
and then we tied up his arm, and I said, as he
couldn't fight any more, he'd better come and
make it up with you; and so he did, and that's
all about it. And here we are at my quarters,
so come along; and mind the dog, or you'll find
him mighty playful with the calves of your
legs as you mount the staircase."

Paying due regard to the major's caution, I
managed with my cane to keep off the attentions
of a stout terrier who followed us into the
smoking-room, and then seeing me take my
seat like an honest man, ceased to snuff at
imaginary rascals in my legs, and bestowed
himself under the table.

Meantime his master had taken a pipe
and filled it carefully with some of that cave
tobacco which is the boast of Venezuela,
sold in boxes. For a man who had just
been engaged in a duel, the major's
countenance wore a most serene expression. But
the exceeding calmness of his look was one of
his characteristics, and it never altered under
any circumstances. Another peculiarity of his
was the mellifluous tone of his voice, which
remained unchanged even when he chose to utter,
as he sometimes did, most despiteful words.
Snow-white hair, too, added to his peaceful
appearance; but he was a man of iron build,
with the chest, shoulders, and arms of a
gladiator, and a complexion of bronze. He
was a renowned duellist, and had been
out with every kind of weapon, and so
very often, that he sometimes confused the
incidents of his encounters, and would shake his
head and heave a regretful sigh after speaking
of a man whose affair had ended in a miss and a
shot in the air, while in another case, in which
his antagonist had been mortally wounded, he
would close his reminiscences with a smile and
a joyous "Faith, sir, I'm glad it ended as it did!"

"Now, major," said I, "for the story you
promised me. In your case there was a
mistake, I suppose."

"You may say that," responded the major,
settling himself in his easy chair, and
opening correspondence with a fragant glass
of rum and water which he had just mixed
for himself. "A mistake there was, and so I
tould O'Halloran, but he wouldn't believe it,
worse luck to him, poor fellow.

"It was a very long time ago; let me see now,
yes, faith, as long back as April, 1821, that I
landed at Angostura—Ciudad Bolivar they call
it now—to join the British Legion under the
liberator: that's Bolivar, you know. I was a
smart boy then, with fair hair and rosy cheeks,
just come from serving in one of the Duke's
crack regiments, full of life, and ready for
anything, from a fight to a fandango, from stealing
a kiss to taking a battery. There were many
like me on board the ship that brought us over
from Europe, but all our high spirits could not
make our first impression of the country, we had
come to free, an agreeable one. The northern
coast of Venezuela woos the voyager to land
with many a glorious bit of scenery, but
Guyana, at whose capital we were about to
disembark, is anything but inviting. A swampy
forest as big as France and Spain put together,
with a huge muddy drain running through
the middle of it, that's Guyana and the Orinoco.
Yet Raleigh cruised about in search of palaces
of gold in this vast howling wilderness, full of
snakes, jaguars, and alligators, with a sprinkling
of wretched human savages who think ant-paste
a luxury. 'Pat, my boy,' I said to a friend,