be a revolution some day. Some of the people have already retired into
their houses, after chalking in very big letters on their front doors,
'Please come into this house and cut the owner's throat for him, so
that he may rest at peace, and have no fear of what may happen.' Others
have climbed on to their roofs, and occupy themselves there looking
at the moon through spy-glasses, thinking that the conspirators are
concealed in that luminary, and only waiting for a cloud to obscure
it, in order to descend upon the city unobserved."

"Hear!" cried the old man, rapping delighted applause on the counter
with his empty glass.

"What do you drink, friend?" I asked, thinking his keen appreciation
of my grotesque speech deserved a treat, and wishing to draw him out
a little more.

"Rum, friend, thank you. They say it warms you in winter, and cools
you in summer--what can you have better?"

"Tell me," said I, when his glass had been refilled by the storekeeper,
"what I shall say when I return to Montevideo, and am asked what news
there is in the country?"

The old fellow's eyes twinkled, while the other men ceased talking,
and looked at him as if anticipating something good in reply to my
question.

"Say to them," he answered, "that you met an old man--a horse tamer
named Lucero--and that he told you this fable for you to repeat to the
townspeople: Once there was a great tree named Montevideo growing in