I am ashamed of saying so much about these men and myself, where I could find much better subjects, and some, perhaps, of entertainment; but it is necessary to shew how very proper it is for a stranger to take with him letters of recommendation when he travels, not only to other kingdoms, but to every city where he proposes to reside, even for a short time; for, as Mr. Wombwell justly observed, when I have a letter of recommendation from my friend, or correspondent, I can have no doubt who the bearer is; and I had rather take that recommendation than Bank notes.—­I confess, that merchants cannot be too cautious and circumspect; I can, and do forgive Mr. Curtoys, for reasons he shall shew you under his own hand:  but I have too good an opinion of Mr. Wombwell’s perception to so readily forget his shrewd reprisals; though I must, I cannot refrain from telling you what a flattering thing he said to me:  I had shewn him a printed paper, signed Junius; said he, “If you wrote this, you may be, for aught I know, really JUNIUS.”  I assured him that I was not; for being in Spain, and out of the reach of the inquisitorial court of Westminster-Hall, I would instantly avow it, for fear I should die suddenly, and carry that secret, like Mrs. Faulkner, to the grave with me.

LETTER XIX.

BARCELONA.

You will, as I am, be tired of hearing so much about Messrs. Wombwell, Curtoys, Adams, and Co.—­but as there are some other persons here, which my last letter must have put you in some pain about, I must renew the subject.  I had, you know, some letters of recommendation to the Marquis of Grimaldi, which I had reserved to deliver into his Excellency’s hands at Madrid; but which I found necessary to send away by the post, and to request the honour of his Excellency to write to some Spaniard of fashion here, to shew me countenance, and to clear up my suspected character.  I accordingly wrote to the Marquis, and sent him my letters of recommendation, but sixteen days was the soonest I could expect an answer.  I therefore, in the mean time, wrote myself to the Intendant of Barcelona, a man of sense, and high birth; I told him my name, and that I had letters in my pocket from a Spanish Gentleman of fashion, whom he knew, which would convince him who I was, and desired leave to wait upon him.  The Intendant fixed six o’clock the same evening.  I was received, and conducted into his apartment, for he was ill, by one of his daughters; the only woman I had seen in Barcelona that had either beauty or breeding;—­this young Lady had both in a high degree.  After shewing my letters, and having conversed a little with the Intendant, a Lady with a red face, and a nose as big as a brandy bottle, accosted me in English:  “Behold, Sir, (said she) your countrywoman.”  This was Madam O’Reilly, wife to the Governor of Monjuique Castle, and brother to the Gentleman