consult together, and will see what steps can be taken for your advantage."

Teodosia thanked him in the best manner she could, and strove to compose herself a little, in order to allow the gentleman to go to sleep. He, however, could not slumber a moment, but turned restlessly about, sighing so deeply, that Teodosia was obliged to ask what disturbed him, saying, that if it was any distress which she could alleviate, she would do it with the same readiness with which he had offered to serve her. To which he answered-" Although you, yourself, lady, are the cause of my unrest, yet it is not in your power to remove it; for had such been the case, I should then have been without uneasiness."

Teodosia was unable to comprehend the drift of this enigmatical reply. She was not, however, without suspicion that some amorous impulse had seized him, and further, that she herself was the object of it; nor, says my author, was the suspicion an unnatural one, considering that they were in such an apartment alone, and in the dark. Under this apprehension, she rose and dressed herself in great haste, and in perfect silence, girding on her sword and dagger; and in that manner, sitting on the bed, she awaited the daybreak, which in a little while gave signs of its approach by the sparklings of light which shot through the numerous chinks and crevices that ventilated the comfortless apartments of that order of Spanish inns.

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Her male companion had done the same; and no sooner did he observe the streaks of daylight in the chamber, than he rose from the bed, saying, Arise, madam, and I will accompany you in this journey; nor shall you quit my side until I see Marco Antonio at yours, as your lawful husband, or else until he or I lose our life in the quarrel;-and now you shall see the obligation of redress which your wrongs have imposed upon me;" and so saying, he opened the windows and doors of the apartment.

Teodosia had been wishing the light to be admitted, in order that she might survey the figure and countenance of the person with whom she had been talking during the night; but when she saw and recognized him, she would have wished that to her the day-light might never have arrived, but that her eyes might have been closed in perpetual darkness; for scarcely had the gentleman turned his eyes to look at her (which he was not less impatient to do), before she knew him to be the very brother whom she so

much feared; at the sight of whom she was struck speechless, and changed colour; but at length, gathering courage from her very fear, and presence of mind from the consciousness of her peril, laying her hand upon her dagger, she took it by the point, and threw herself on her knees before her brother, saying, in a hurried and faltering voice :

"Here, sir, and my beloved brother, take this weapon, and satisfy your anger by inflicting the punishment due to my crime, which is too great for any mercy to avail me. I confess my sin, and I wish not that my repentance should be received in exculpation; only I entreat that my punishment, while it takes my life, may spare my reputation, since, though by absenting myself from my parents' house I have put it in manifest danger, it may yet remain entire, if the chastisement you inflict upon me be secret."

Her brother gazed at her; and although the seeming levity with which she had acted prompted him to revenge, yet the forcible and feeling terms in which she confessed her fault so softened his heart, that, with a mild and cheering countenance, he raised her from the ground, and consoled her in the best manner he was able; saying, amongst other things, that as he could find no punishment adequate to her folly, he postponed it for the present; and that for that reason, as also because it appeared to him that fortune had not yet entirely closed the door of redress against her, he was rather inclined to seek it by all possible means than to avenge the dishonour which her great indiscretion had brought upon him."

These words revived the fainting spirits of Teodosia; the colour returned to her cheeks; and her hopes, which had vanished for a while, were restored. Don Rafael (for that was her brother's name) was desirous of saying no more to her on the subject just then; only telling her she must change her name of Teodosia for the masculine one of Teodoro, and that they must return together to Salamanca, in order to find out Marco Antonio; although he imagined that he was not there; since, being his own acquaintance, he should most likely have met him in the university; although, indeed, it might be, that the injury which he had done him had caused him to avoid speaking to him. The young lady acquiesced in her brother's desire, and was accordingly metamorphosed in name as well as appearance.

The host now entered, and they ordered him to give them some breakfast,

for that they wished to depart immediately. While the muleteer was saddling, and the breakfast preparing, a gentleman travelling that way, entered the inn, and was immediately recognised by Don Rafael as one of his acquaintance. Teodosia knew him too, for which reason she would not venture out of her chamber, for fear he should see her.

The two gentlemen embraced, according to the Spanish mode of salutation; and Don Rafael asked the new-comer the news of his town, to which he answered that he was come from Port St. Mary's, where he had left four galleys bound for Naples, and that on board of one of them he had seen Marco Antonio Adorno, son of Don Leonardo Adorno; at which intelligence Don Rafael was rejoiced, thinking that the unexpected receipt of this piece of news, at that moment so important to him, was no bad omen of the success of his expedition. He asked his friend, since the latter was well acquainted with Don Rafael's father, to exchange with him for his father's horse, the mule on which he was travelling, telling him, not that he was coming from Salamanca, but that he was going thither, and wished not to take so good a horse so long a journey. The other, being both friendly and polite, made no objections to the exchange, but undertook to deliver the horse to Don Rafael's father.

The two gentlemen breakfasted together, and Teodosia alone, for fear of discovery; after which the friend set out on the way to Cazalla, a place about forty miles to the north-east of Seville, where he had inherited a good estate. Don Rafael excused himself from setting out along with him, by saying, that before he proceeded on his journey, he must return that day to Seville; and as soon as the other was fairly out of sight, the mules being ready, and the host's reckoning brought in and paid. they bade adieu to him and to the inn, leaving all its occupiers in admiration of their handsome figure; Don Rafael possessing no less manly elegance of person and deportment, than his sister did feminine grace and beauty.

As soon as they were on the way, Don Rafael communicated to his sister the intelligence which he had received respecting Marco Antonio, and said, it was his opinion, that they should travel with all possible speed to Barcelona, where the galleys usually stopped a little while on their way to or from Italy; and that if the galleys should not have arrived, they

could wait for them, and would, no doubt, meet with Marco Antonio there.

His sister desired him to do whatever he thought for the best, for that she submitted herself entirely to his guidance. Don Rafael told the muleteer to have patience, for that he had occasion to go to Barcelona, assuring him at the same time that he should be paid to his satisfaction for whatever time they might want his services. The muleteer being naturally good-natured, and knowing Don Rafael's generosity, answered that he would go with him to the world's end if he desired it.

Don Rafael asked his sister what money she had with her she replied that she had not counted it, and only knew that she had taken out of an escrutoire of her father's seven or eight handfuls of gold escudos, from which Don Rafael concluded that she had about five hundred; and having two hundred himself, besides a gold chain which he wore, he thought they were pretty well provided for their journey, and the more so as he was persuaded that they should find Marco Antonio at Barcelona. They therefore journeyed on with alacrity, losing no time on the way, and meeting with no accident or hinderance until they arrived within two leagues of a place called Ygualada, which is distant only nine from Barcelona.

They had learned on the way, that a gentleman who was going as ambassador to Rome, was waiting at Barcelona for the galleys, which had not yet arrived there. Much gratified by this intelligence, they were proceeding on their journey, when, being about to enter a small wood, they observed a man running out of it and looking behind him as if terrified. Don Rafael stopped him, asking, "Why do you run so fast, my good man? what has happened to frighten you so excessively?"

"Would you not have me be afraid and run with all speed," answered the man, "when I have just escaped by miracle from a band of robbers who are in that wood?"

"Upon my word," said the muleteer, in the elegant diction which might be expected from one of his class, "what! robbers abroad at this hour?-by the mass, but we're in for it."

"Don't be in trouble, my friend," replied the man of the wood, "for the robbers are now gone, and have left above thirty passengers tied to the trees of this wood, and stripped to their shirts; only one man they left at liberty, that

he might untie the rest, as soon as they should have passed behind a certain hill which they pointed out to him."

"In that case" said Calvete, the muleteer, "we may go on safely, for the robbers never come again to the place where they 've committed a robbery, for several days; and of this I've reason to assure you, for I've been twice in their hands, and know their ways almost as well as if I'd been a robber myself."

"You are right," said the man; on hearing which Don Rafael determined to go forward; nor had they gone far, before they found the people bound to the trees, exceeding forty in number, and the one who had been left at liberty was busy untying them. It was a strange sight, to see some of them quite stripped, others dressed in the ragged habiliments of the robbers, some weeping to find themselves plundered, others laughing at the droll figures of the rest: here one was giving a minute detail of every article which had been taken from him; there another was declaring that he was more grieved for the loss of a box of Agnus Deis which he was bringing from Rome, than for that of a multitude of other things which they had robbed him of; in short, all was one clamorous scene of wailing and complaining among the poor despoiled travellers; all which excited the commiseration of the two brothers, as we may for the present call them, who at the same time thanked heaven for their deliverance from so great and imminent a danger.

But what most strongly called forth their compassion, especially that of Teodoro, was to see, bound to the trunk of an evergreen oak, a youth apparently about sixteen years old, who was left with no clothes on but his shirt, and a pair of linen trowsers, but of so beautiful a countenance that all eyes were drawn towards him. Teodoro dismounted in order to set him at liberty, and the youth thanked him in very polite terms for his kindness, which Teodoro made still greater by asking Calvete the muleteer to lend him his cloak until they should arrive at the next town, where they would buy another for that handsome youth. Calvete gave it him, and Teodoro covered the boy with it, asking him from whence he came, and whither he was travelling.

Don Rafael was present all the while, and the youth answered that he came from Andalusia, and from a place which, when he mentioned it, they found to be distant only two leagues from their own. He said that he was now coming from

Seville, and that his intention was to go to Italy and try his fortune in the profession of arms, as many other Spaniards were wont to do; but that he had proved very unlucky in falling among those thieves, who had taken from him a good sum of money, besides his clothes, which were so good that he could not replace them for three hundred escudos; but that nevertheless he meant to continue his journey, since he did not come of such a stock as to let the warmth of his desire be chilled by the first cross accident.

The "good set terms" in which the youth told his story, together with the fact of his coming from their own immediate neighbourhood, and, above all, the letter of recommendation which he bore in his handsome person, inclined the brothers to shew him all the kindness in their power. So, after distributing some money among such of the plundered as appeared to be the most necessitous, especially among the friars and clergymen, of whom there were eight or nine, they made the youth mount Calvete's mule, and, losing no more time, they shortly found themselves at Ygualada, where they learned that the galleys had arrived at Barcelona the day before, and were to depart from thence in two days, if the insecurity of the shore did not oblige them to go earlier.

This intelligence made them propose to rise next morning before the sun; but it so happened that the two brothers slept less quietly than they had expected, the cause of which must here be related.

Being at table, together with the youth whom they had taken into their company, Teodoro gazed stedfastly at him, and observing him rather closely, thought she perceived that his ears were bored; from which, and from a bashful look which he had, she suspected him to be a woman, and she wished the supper to be over, that she might ascertain the fact in a tête-à-tête.

During the supper, Don Rafael asked him whose son he was, as he knew all the principal people of the place to which he belonged, if it was that which he had said; to which the youth answered, that he was the son of Don Sancho de Cardenas, a gentleman very well known.

To this Don Rafael replied, that he knew Don Sancho de Cardenas very well, and knew for certain, that he had no son; but that if the young man had said so in order to conceal his parentage, it was of no consequence, and he would never ask him the question again.

"True it is," rejoined the youth, "that Don Sancho has no son; but there is a brother of his, called Don Enrique, who has."

No," said Don Rafael, "he has no son either; but he has an only daughter, who is said to be one of the most beautiful young ladies in all Andalusia; but this I only know by report, for though I have often been in the place where she lives, I have never seen her." "All that you say, sir, is true," said the youth; "for Don Enrique has only a daughter, but not so beautiful as report says; and when I said that I was the son of Don Sancho, I confess, gentlemen, it was only that you might think me a person of some consequence; since my real father is a house-steward of Don Enrique's, who has lived with him for many years, so that I was born in his house; and in consequence of a certain offence which I gave to my father, taking with me a large sum of money, I chose to go to Italy as I have told you, in order to enter the career of arms, by which I have seen that even those of obscure birth have raised themselves to distinction."

All this, and the manner in which it was said, were attentively observed by Teodoro, and all tended to confirm her suspicion.

Supper being now over, and the cloth removed, they were about to retire to rest; but while Don Rafael was undressing, Teodoro having told him her suspicion respecting the youth, with his leave and approbation she took him aside to the balcony of a large window overlooking the street, and standing there with their faces to each other, Teodoro addressed the youth in these terms:

"Senor Francisco (for that he had told them was his name), I would that I had done you so many good offices as to oblige you to grant me whatever request I should make; but the short time that I have known you has not yet afforded me an opportunity of so doing; in that which is to come, you will, perhaps, have reason to know the extent of my desire to serve you; and if you should not be pleased to gratify my present wish, I shall not therefore be less friendly to you than I now am; for you must know, that although my years are as few as your own, yet I have more experience in the ways of the world than they seem to promise; so I have begun to suspect that you are not of the sex which your dress would bespeak, but a woman, and of as good birth as your beauty declares you to be, and therewithal, perhaps, as

unfortunate as this change of attire seems to indicate, such changes never being to the advantage of her who makes them. If I suspect right, I conjure you to tell me so, and I swear, on the word of a gentleman, to serve and assist you to the utmost of my power. It is vain to deny to me that you are a woman; for those marks in your ears very plainly discover it, and it was an oversight in you not to fill up and conceal those borings with a little coloured wax, as it might have happened that some one as curious as myself, and less honourable, might have found out that which you have so ill contrived to conceal. Do not, I repeat, be afraid to tell me who you are, with the assurance of my best assistance, and of all the secresy which you may wish me to preserve." (Continued at page 109.)

"A supervisor of excise, named Thomas, was ordered, not long since, to a town not far from Llanfyllin, in Montgomeryshire, to occupy the district of a supervisor who had been shifted to another station, as is usual with the servants of the excise department; and having a wife and children, he proceeded on first, in order to select a suitable house for his family. He had never been in Wales before, and, consequently, he met with many inconveniences. The only house vacant was a large old mansion, which stood in decay at the foot of a mountain; and to this the supervisor was directed as the only habitable place that was not occupied. On the first view of so large a house, all notion of becoming a tenant was abandoned; but as the place had a mysterious curiosity about it, the mansion being large, the garden choked with weeds, the steps leading to the doors moss-grown, several of the windows being broken, and the whole having an air of grandeur in neglect, he was prompted to make inquiries; and an old man, to whom he was referred as being the only owner as long as any neighbour could remember, instantly offered to let him the mansion at the small rent of five pounds a-year. The supervisor did not want so large a house; but as he wished

to send for his family, and had been obliged to put up with lodgings in a paltry alehouse, he thought it was worth while to go over the old pile, and ascertain whether a few rooms could not be comfortably fitted up for his accommodation while in discharge of his duty there. The lowness of the rent, of course, operated as an additional inducement; and having fixed upon four or five rooms up stairs, he struck the bargain, got in a few little things until his wife should arrive with all the domestic equipments of a family, and forthwith wrote off for her. The first night of his sojourn he lighted a large fire to dispel the dampness; and having taken his glass of grog, he lay down and enjoyed an excellent night's rest. On his rising in the morning, his first visit was to a barber's shop in the town, in order to get shaved, and there several persons inquired most earnestly how he had slept; and when he declared that he had never enjoyed a better night's rest in his life, every one seemed amazed. The mystery was now dispelled, and his eyes were opened by being informed the Tee Gwyn,' or White House,' as the mansion was called, had been haunted for fifty years back. The supervisor laughed at this notion, and avowed his utter disbelief in ghosts. The professional shrewdness usually characteristic of his calling, raised a surmise that this same lonely house might be a very snug spot for working an illicit still; and, accordingly, he determined not to be driven out of his new habitation, until he ascertained the fact. He spent the greater part of the day in rummaging the vaults and every hiding-place; but without discovering any thing to confirm his suspicions. As night advanced, he threw an extra log on the fire, and, having borrowed a chair in the town, he sat himself down before it, ate his bread and cheese, and sipped his grog amidst various ruminations. At one time he thought his situation rather dangerous; as, in the event of his suspicions being true, there was no assistance at hand. He might have his throat cut from ear to ear, and his body thrown into a tub; while his wife and family would be none the wiser. Fears of the living, more than of the dead, flitted across his brain; and at length he resolved, in case he heard any thing going on, to remain as quiet as possible, and send all the information he could to the heads of his department. He could see by his watch it was nearly twelve o'clock; but Nature's fond nurse' had forsaken him, and he felt no inclination to sleep.

"On a sudden he heard footsteps on the staircase, and he felt, or thought he felt, his hair lift his hat at least an inch off his forehead. His heart fluttered; the logs did not seem to blaze so brightly; he listened anxiously, but he heard nothing. After chiding his fancy for frightening him, he mustered courage enough to open the door, which he left in that state, and then betook himself to his couch, after a paralytic sort of a poke at the fire. Scarce had the first doze relieved his limbs, when he was awakened by a strange clattering on the staircase, as if ten thousand imps were ascending to his room. In the panic of the moment he jumped up, and rushed to the landing-place, where he distinctly heard the imps clatter down the broad staircase again, making faint shrieking cries, which died away with the sounds of their footsteps as they seemed to gain the vaults beneath the house. It was now manifest that there were other living tenants in the mansion besides himself; and the remain. der of that sleepless night was spent in gloomy conjectures. With painful anxiety did he watch the grey breaking in the east; and when the day burst forth, he commenced a most scrutinizing search. Nothing, however, was to be discovered, not even a footstep on the staircase; although he could have sworn that he really did hear his disturbers ascend towards his room, and then depart. On his visit to the town that morning, the previous day's inquiries were repeated; but he strenuously denied having been disturbed, for fear he should be thought a coward. The next evening, he determined to ascertain whether any thing really did ascend the staircase, or whether it was mere fancy; and for this purpose, he spread a thick coat of sand on every step, imagining, shrewdly enough, that if his tormentors were really substantial, they must leave some tracks behind them. In the middle of the night, the same extraordinary noise was heard; but the supervisor had provided himself with pistols, and being armed with a lamp also, he proceeded down stairs as hard as he could. The imps, however, were too nimble for him, and he could not even get a glimpse of them. Again did he search in every hole and corner, disturbing the poor spiders with the blaze of his lamp; and finding his scrutiny in vain, he was retracing his steps when he recollected the sand, which, in his terrified descent, he had forgotten, when, to his horror, he perceived some five or six hundred cloven tracts! They were too small for old goblins, and much too large