OF A HAUNTED HOUSE IN MEXICO.
Nature has gifted me with an excellent memory, but not a particle of imagination, otherwise I might clothe with details many interesting narratives which now repose in my mind as mere dry facts. As captain of a ship carrying passengers of every grade, from the man of humble origin who has made a fortune by successful speculation, to the members of royal families, it often happens that one or other of them beguiles the time by walking up and down the deck with me, while smoking his evening cigar, and relating some of his experiences at the places where he has been. Some of these are tedious enough to listen to, very frequently more on account of the manner in which they are told than because they are uninteresting in themselves, but others are, as far as I am able to judge, of sufficient interest to be told again, and to a larger audience. I will only ask those who read them to remember that they are written by one who makes no claim whatever to the distinction of being considered as a literary man.
I once entered the port of Vera Cruz, in Mexico, while a revolution was going on—no very extraordinary coincidence in the case of a country where disturbances of the kind are so common as they are there. Of course, under these circumstances, I did not attempt to land the consignments intrusted to my charge, but waited till things had settled down a little, as there is always a good deal of pillage and robbery on these occasions, and it is difficult to prove by whom, as it may be by the troops who have gone out, or by those who have come in, or by the populace. The reports of the muskets were incessant, and as there was no occasion for my landing, I intended to remain on board till the affair was concluded one way or the other, and advised the few passengers I had on board to do the same, which, with one exception, they did. The man who declined to follow my advice was a young German from Bremen, who had come out to join an uncle, whose name I do not think I am at liberty to mention, especially as it is well known to most men who have had commercial dealings with Mexican houses. That Mr.—Van Hoogen, say—the young man in question, should be only the more anxious to get ashore when he found what was going on, was natural enough. His uncle was an elderly man, and reputed to be very rich, a reputation which