Elsewhere than at Coralio one learns of the impetuouscareer of Isabel Guilbert. New Orleans gave her birthand the mingled French and Spanish creole nature thattinctured her life with such turbulence and warmth. Shehad little education， but a knowledge of men and motivesthat seemed to have come by instinct. Far beyond thecommon woman was she endowed with intrepid rashness，with a love for the pursuit of adventure to the brink ofdanger， and with desire for the pleasures of life. Her spiritwas one to chafe under any curb； she was Eve after the fall，but before the bitterness of it was felt. She wore life as arose in her bosom.
Of the legion of men who had been at her feet it wassaid that but one was so fortunate as to engage her fancy.
To President Miraflores， the brilliant but unstable ruler ofAnchuria， she yielded the key to her resolute heart. How，then， do we find her （as the Coralians would have told you）the wife of Frank Goodwin， and happily living a life of dulland dreamy inaction？
The underlying threads reach far， stretching across thesea. Following them out it will be made plain why “Shorty”
O’Day， of the Columbia Detective Agency， resigned hisposition. And， for a lighter pastime， it shall be a dutyand a pleasing sport to wander with Momus beneath thetropic stars where Melpomene once stalked austere. Nowto cause laughter to echo from those lavish jungles andfrowing crags where formerly rang the cries of pirate’svictims； to lay aside pike and cutlass and attack with quipand jollity； to draw one saving titter of mirth from therusty casque of Romance—this were pleasant to do in theshade of the lemon-trees on that coast that is curved likelips set for smiling.
For there are yet tales of the Spanish Main. That segmentof continent washed by the tempestuous Caribbean， andpresenting to the sea a formidable border of tropiclejungle topped by the overweening Cordilleras， is stillbegirt by mystery and romance. In past times， buccaneersand revolutionists roused the echoes of its cliffs， and thecondor wheeled perpetually above where， in the greengroves， they made food for him with their matchlocksand toledos. Taken and retaken by sea rovers， by adversepowers and by sudden uprising of rebellious factions，the historic 300 miles of adventurous coast has scarcelyknown for hundreds of years whom rightly to call itsmaster. Pizarro， Balboa， Sir Francis Drake， and Bolivardid what they could to make it a part of Christendom. SirJohn Morgan， Lafitte and other eminent swashbucklersbombarded and pounded it in the name of Abaddon.
The game still goes on. The guns of the rovers aresilenced； but the tintype man， the enlarged photographbrigand， the kodaking tourist and the scouts of the gentlebrigade of fakirs have found it out， and carry on the work.
The hucksters of Germany， France， and Sicily now bag insmall change across their counters. Gentlemen adventurersthrong the waiting-rooms of its rulers with proposals forrailways and concessions. The little opera-bouffe nationsplay at government and intrigue until some day a big，silent gunboat glides into the offing and warns them notto break their toys. And with these changes comes also thesmall adventurer， with empty pockets to fill， light of heart，busy-brained—the modern fairy prince， bearing an alarmclock with which， more surely than by the sentimentalkiss， to awaken the beautiful tropics from their centuries’
sleep. Generally he wears a shamrock， which he matchespridefully against the extravagant palms； and it is he whohad driven Melpomene to the wings， and set Comedy todancing before the footlights of the Southern Cross.
So， there is a little tale to tell of many things. Perhaps tothe promiscuous ear of the Walrus it shall come with mostavail； for in it there are indeed shoes and ships and sealingwaxand cabbage-palms and presidents instead of kings.
Add to these a little love and counterplotting， andscatter everywhere throughout the maze a trail of tropicaldollars—dollars warmed no more by the torrid sun thanby the hot palms of the scouts of Fortune—and， after all，here seems to be Life， itself， with talk enough to weary themost garrulous of Walruses.
