Remigio Vasquez
CHAPTER I.
There is one peculiar charm in the towns of Mexico, and that is the perfect straightness of the streets, along which the eye wanders till the point of sight terminates in the blue hills of the country. In Mexico especially I was never tired gazing upon the mountains which bound the horizon upon all sides. On the east I seemed to hear the murmur of the Pacific, and on the west the hoarse roar of the Atlantic sounding from behind these mountains. The first of these oceans reminded me of one of the most adventurous epochs of my life; and I never could forget that the second washed the shores of my native country. I never looked in that direction without feeling a kind of regret and sadness, which often merged into feverish anxiety. In this state of mind, I grasped at every thing which could afford me a pretext for quitting Mexico. I hastened to shake off the sluggishness which began to weigh upon me, and to abandon my self anew to the dangers and emotions of a wandering life a sure remedy against home-sickness.
One evening, on reaching home, I learned that a stranger had called during my absence. The unknown had said that his business with me related to a matter of life and death; but, when asked to leave his
