His personal vanity was also very great; and, indeed, he had some excuse for it, for he was certainly a very handsome man. His dress was always very gaudy--sometimes blue, with gilt trimmings, sometimes green--always with two epaulets, and he went constantly armed. I have called him cowardly, but perhaps in that I have done him injustice. It is possible that what seemed cowardice to me, was only the workings of a sensitive conscience; and that his shunning the eye of those with whom he talked was from a sense of guilt; his punishment may have already begun in his remorse. There were certainly two or three slight indications of this during our intercourse; for instance, he was constantly promising me reparation for the wrongs he had done me, “when we should reach port,” or “when general Cruz should come into power;” and after each new crime he seemed to harden himself against the recollection of it by some drunken frolic with the men, or some unusual display. I cannot forget that my situation made it almost impossible for me to judge him with impartiality; and how difficult it is in any situation for one man to judge of the temptations of another, or of what may be urged in his excuse. Cambiaso had a wife living near San Carlos, but I was told that she was not a woman of good character, and that he had separated from her. I hope he had no children to inherit the disgrace attached to his name. Garcia was not acquitted by the court martial, on the ground of his being compelled to follow Cambiaso from fear of his life, and in consideration of various acts of humanity which he had performed, and which were repeated by the rebels themselves, but held for a second trial. After his first trial, I called upon him, and found his sister with him. She was evidently a lady, and I understood that his family were among the most respectable in Valparaiso. He received me very politely--even kindly--and congratulated me on my escape; at the same time thanking me for some kindnesses which I had been able to show him during his imprisonment on the Florida. While I was in Valparaiso, I saw (in his prison,) the officer whose life was spared through Garcia’s interference. He was obliged to have his second trial, and as his wife visited him daily, he asked me to come and see him again, saying that she wanted to thank me for my sympathy on the night that he was condemned by Cambiaso. These marks of gratitude for slight favors made me feel that no men are so far wrong that some good feeling does not often show itself, when occasion calls it out; and that the saying which I have heard somewhere, that “the difference between the best good man and the worst bad man in this world is not nearly so great in the eyes of God as it is in our eyes,” is perhaps very true.