They will tell you in Anchuria, that President Miraflores, of that volatile republic, died by his own hand in the coast town of Coralio; that he had reached thus far in flight from the inconveniences of an imminent revolution; and that one hundred thousand dollars, government funds, which he carried with him in an American leather valise as a souvenir of his tempestuous administration, was never afterward recovered.<br />For a real, a boy will show you his grave. It is back of the town near a little bridge that spans a mangrove swamp. A plain slab of wood stands at its head. Some one has burned upon the headstone with a hot iron this inscription:<br /><br />RAMON ANGEL DE LAS CRUZES<br />Y MIRAFLORES<br />PRESIDENTE DE LA REPUBLICA<br />DE ANCHURIA<br />QUE SEA SU JUEZ DIOS<br /><br />It is characteristic of this buoyant people that they pursue no man beyond the grave. &quot;Let God be his judge!&quot;&mdash;Even with the hundred thousand unfound, though greatly coveted, the hue and cry went no further than that.