As I was going away he said, “Yours is not the first application I have had; ever since I have held the reins of government I have been pestered in this manner, by English calling themselves Evangelical Christians, who have of late come flocking over into Spain.  Only last week a hunchbacked fellow found his way into my cabinet whilst I was engaged in important business, and told me that Christ was coming. . . .  And now you have made your appearance, and almost persuaded me to embroil myself yet more with the priesthood, as if they did not abhor me enough already.  What a strange infatuation is this which drives you over lands and waters with Bibles in your hands.  My good sir, it is not Bibles we want, but rather guns and gunpowder, to put the rebels down with, and above all, money, that we may pay the troops; whenever you come with these three things you shall have a hearty welcome, if not, we really can dispense with your visits, however great the honour.”

Myself.—­There will be no end to the troubles of this afflicted country until the gospel have free circulation.

Mendizabal.—­I expected that answer, for I have not lived thirteen years in England without forming some acquaintance with the phraseology of you good folks.  Now, now, pray go; you see how engaged I am.  Come again whenever you please, but let it not be within the next three months.

“Don Jorge,” said my hostess, coming into my apartment one morning, whilst I sat at breakfast with my feet upon the brasero, “here is my son Baltasarito, the national; he has risen from his bed, and hearing that there is an Englishman in the house, he has begged me to introduce him, for he loves Englishmen on account of the liberality of their opinions; there he is, what do you think of him?”

I did not state to his mother what I thought; it appeared to me, however, that she was quite right calling him Baltasarito, which is the diminutive of Baltasar, forasmuch as that ancient and sonorous name had certainly never been bestowed on a more diminutive personage:  he might measure about five feet one inch, though he was rather corpulent for his height; his face looked yellow and sickly, he had, however, a kind of fanfaronading air, and his eyes, which were of dark brown, were both sharp and brilliant.  His dress, or rather his undress, was somewhat shabby:  he had a foraging cap on his head, and in lieu of a morning gown, he wore a sentinel’s old great coat.

“I am glad to make your acquaintance, senor nacional,” said I to him, after his mother had departed, and Baltasar had taken his seat, and of course lighted a paper cigar at the brasero.  “I am glad to have made your acquaintance, more especially as your lady mother has informed me that you have great influence with the nationals.  I am a stranger in Spain, and may want a friend; fortune has been kind to me in procuring me one who is a member of so powerful a body.”