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Rh my soul." The work was His, not mine. The peril mine, the preservation His, and preservation far surpassed all peril. My favorite talisman, that had done excellent service often before, was again at hand, and I repeated,

I had no return of that panic in Mexico. Though out late and in out-of-the-way places, I took my possibly poisoned coffee as cheerfully as Socrates his really poisoned drink, and came and went indifferent to fear. Though in consciousness of peril, there was no panic, nor thought of panic.

It came upon me again at Queretaro, and as foolishly. I had been even more earnestly warned against making this tour. I had most unwisely allowed my letter of credit on the Diligencia company to be made out in my first name only, and my ticket to Matamoras likewise; and with a Spanish ending, Señor Gilberto, which, under the novel pronunciation of "Hilberto," was sufficiently concealing. This was done without my knowledge or consent by a too careful friend, but I allowed it to pass. It did not increase my courage. A disguise, however thin, makes the wearer weak.

At the head of the breakfast-table sat a fine-dressed gentleman, whose dulces and Champagne, freely proffered, made him autocrat thereof. I was told afterward that his style was above his known means of support, that he was watched by the police, and that he was suspected of being in league with robbers, giving them information of any rich placers his position, as a boarder in the stage-house, might enable him to detect. I was to go at three in the morning, alone. Possibly the tea and coffee helped it along, but it came—the panic. I went to bed for a couple of hours, knowing better than "Probabilities" knows the coming weather, that there was to be a storm. The soldiers woke me at two, with some delicious soft notes. I rarely, if ever, heard any thing more mellow. But I only thought of the poor captain shot the day before I left