XII.
CITY OF MEXICO.
LEFT standing in the station, after all the passengers had departed, no coach within hail, and with no one speaking my native tongue to advise me, I knew not which way, nor how, to go. Looking about for some straw to catch at, that might float me perchance into a comfortable hotel, I saw a group of people taking leave of some would-be passengers by the return train for the coast. Drawing near them, keeping one eye on my gun-cases and trunks, I soon ascertained that they spoke English, and were moreover Americans. Suddenly there came to my ears a familiar expression,—"O yes, I 'm right along in the procession!"—and I said to myself, "My gracious! there is Hooper." Now everybody in Mexico knows Hooper,—from his frequent visits, from his facility for making acquaintance, from his jolly good nature, and his entire willingness to impart information. In truth, I have known Hooper to convey to an unsuspicious stranger intelligence of such a character as made the hair of that individual bristle with horror; and then, again, I have known him to talk so hopefully (to ladies) about the beauty, the loveliness, and the perfect security in which life and property rejoiced in Mexico, that they would declare their determination to do the country on foot and unprotected. But then it depended altogether upon what kind of information you wanted. Hooper always gave you just what you desired; you had only to tell him where you were going, and he would contrive so many and such varied delights for that place as to fairly ravish you with joy. If you wanted a gold mine in proximity to picturesque scenery, there you had it; if you wanted to slay a brigand on the road, it was just infested with them,—
