at he had journeyed alone on foot
across half the continent to the coast, and had first appeared among
them, a young stranger, penniless, in rags, wasted almost to a skeleton
by fever and misery of all kinds, his face blackened by long exposure
to sun and wind. Friendless, with but little English, it was a hard
struggle for him to live; but he managed somehow, and eventually letters
from Caracas informed him that a considerable property of which he had
been deprived was once more his own, and he was also invited to return
to his country to take his part in the government of the Republic. But
Mr. Abel, though young, had already outlived political passions and
aspirations, and, apparently, even the love of his country; at all
events, he elected to stay where he was--his enemies, he would say
smilingly, were his best friends--and one of the first uses he made of
his fortune was to buy that house in Main Street which was afterwards
like a home to me.

I must state here that my friend's full name was Abel Guevez de
Argensola, but in his early days in Georgetown he was called by his
Christian name only, and later he wished to be known simply as "Mr.
Abel."

I had no sooner made his acquaintance than I ceased to wonder at the
esteem and even affection with which he, a Venezuelan, was regarded in
this British colony. All knew and liked him, and the reason of it was
the personal charm of the man, his kindly disposition, his manner with
women, which pleased them and excited no man's jealousy--not even
the old hot-tempered planter's, with a very young and pretty and
light-headed wife--his love of little children, of all wild creatures,
of nature, and of whatsoever was furthest removed from the common
material interests and concerns of a purely commercial community.
The things which excited other men--politics, sport, and the price of
crystals--were outside of his thoughts; and when men had done with
them for a season, when like the tempest they had "blown their fill" in
office and club-room and house and wanted a change, it was a relief to
turn to Mr. Abel and get him to discourse of his world--the world of
nature and of the spirit.

It was, all felt, a good thing to have a Mr. Abel in Georgetown. That
it was indeed good for me I quickly discovered. I had certainly
not expected to meet in such a place with any person to share my
tastes--that love of poetry which has been the chief passion and delight
of my life; but such a one