brought on a long dispute, which terminated rather abruptly.  The Lion having observed that the doctor must not talk about Spanish matters with one who had visited every part of Spain, the doctor bowed, and said he was right, for that he believed no people in general possessed such accurate information about countries as those who had travelled them as bagmen.  On the Lion asking the doctor what he meant, the Welshman, whose under jaw began to move violently, replied, that he meant what he said.  Here the matter ended, for the Lion, turning from him, looked at the writer.  The writer, imagining that his own conversation hitherto had been too trivial and common-place for the Lion to consider worth his while to take much notice of it, determined to assume a little higher ground, and after repeating a few verses of the Koran, and gabbling a little Arabic, asked the Lion what he considered to be the difference between the Hegira and the Christian era, adding, that he thought the general computation was in error by about one year; and being a particularly modest person, chiefly, he believes, owing to his having been at school in Ireland, absolutely blushed at finding that the Lion returned not a word in answer.  “What a wonderful individual I am seated by,” thought he, “to whom Arabic seems a vulgar speech, and a question about the Hegira not worthy of an answer!” not reflecting that as lions come from the Sahara, they have quite enough of Arabic at home, and that the question about the Hegira was rather mal a propos to one used to prey on the flesh of hadjis.  “Now I only wish he would vouchsafe me a little of his learning,” thought the boy to himself, and in this wish he was at last gratified; for the Lion, after asking him whether he was acquainted at all with the Sclavonian languages, and being informed that he was not, absolutely dumb-foundered him by a display of Sclavonian erudition.

Years rolled by—­the writer was a good deal about, sometimes in London, sometimes in the country, sometimes abroad; in London he occasionally met the man of the spectacles, who was always very civil to him, and, indeed, cultivated his acquaintance.  The writer thought it rather odd that, after he himself had become acquainted with the Sclavonian languages and literature, the man of the spectacles talked little or nothing about them.  In a little time, however, the matter ceased to cause him the slightest surprise, for he had discovered a key to the mystery.  In the mean time the man of spectacles was busy enough; he speculated in commerce, failed, and paid his creditors twenty pennies in the pound; published translations, of which the public at length became heartily tired; having, indeed, got an inkling of the manner in which those translations were got up.  He managed, however, to ride out many a storm, having one trusty sheet-anchor—­Radicalism.  This he turned to the best advantage—­writing pamphlets and articles in reviews, all in the Radical interest,