The process is probably less dangerous than it looks, but the passenger breathes freer when the operation is over with and he is safely landed in this land of political disturbances and make-believe money. It cost me seven dollars to land, but when they exchanged six dollars for one Mexican peso, it was not so expensive, for the Mexican eagle on a silver dollar was only worth half as much as the proud bird of Uncle Samuel in the same place. The piers at Guatemala ports are all the property of private companies operating under concessions, that simply receive passengers at a fixed charge and freight at a given rate for each hundred pounds and transport it to the custom-house, which is invariably at the end of the pier, so that there is no chance for escape from the customs officers. Baggage exceeding one hundred pounds becomes quite a burden as the charges are excessive for the service rendered. The Aduana, or custom-house, is no unimportant factor in the scheme of government here as there is very little that escapes duty, although it is hinted that some of the duties collected never reach the government coffers. Then, in addition to an import customs, there is even an export duty on coffee which gives the little, uniformed officials more to do. My experience with these officials gave the first insight into the suspicion with which a stranger is regarded in that country during troublous times, and nearly all times are more or less unsettled under the present government. The two officials carefully scrutinized every article. A number of letters that I had received in Mexico attracted their attention, both officials carefully scrutinizing each one until they reached a letter of introduction to “His most Excellent and Illustrious Señor Don ——,” a member of the President’s Cabinet, when they carefully placed everything back and politely told me that there was no duty to be paid. The name of one so close to the President seemed to remove all suspicion of smuggling at least. I was obliged to give them my name and destination, as I had already done at the pier, and was met by an officer at the door who conducted me to the _commandante’s_ office, where my whole pedigree was asked; and again at the station the same interrogatories had to be answered. All of these experiences were amusing rather than otherwise, for no discourtesy was shown and all the soldiers were polite. They simply served to break the monotony of tedious travel. “Is there a revolution in Guatemala now?”