upon Mr Brandram's mind by this letter.

"I scarcely know what to say," he writes. "You are in a very peculiar country; you are doubtless a man of very peculiar temperament, and we must not apply common rules in judging either of yourself or your affairs. What, e.g., shall we say to your confession of a certain superstitiousness? It is very frank of you to tell us what you need not have told; but it sounded very odd when read aloud in a large Committee. Strangers that know you not would carry away strange ideas . . . In bespeaking our patience, there is an implied contrast between your own mode of proceeding and that adopted by others--a contrast this a little to the disadvantage of others, and savouring a little of the praise of a personage called number one . . . Perhaps my vanity is offended, and I feel as if I were not esteemed a person of sufficient discernment to know enough of the real state of Spain . . .

"Bear with me now in my criticisms on your second letter [that of 2nd May]. You narrate your perilous journey to Seville, and say at the beginning of the description: 'My usual wonderful good fortune accompanying us.' This is a mode of speaking to which we are not well accustomed; it savours, some of our friends would say, a little of the profane. Those who know you will not impute this to you. But you must remember that our Committee Room is public to a great extent, and I cannot omit expressions as I go reading on. Pious sentiments may be thrust into letters ad nauseam, and it is not for that I plead; but is there not a via media? "We are odd people, it may be, in England; we are not fond of prophets or 'prophetesses' [a reference to her of La Mancha about whom Borrow had previously been rebuked]. I have not turned back to your former description of the lady whom you have a second time introduced to our notice. Perhaps my wounded pride had not been made whole after the infliction you before gave it by contrasting the teacher of the prophetess with English rectors."

Borrow replied to this letter from Seville on 28th June, and there are indications that before doing so he took time to deliberate upon it.

"Think not, I pray you," he wrote, "that any observation of yours respecting style, or any peculiarities of expression which I am in the habit of exhibiting in my correspondence, can possibly awaken in me any feeling but that of gratitude, knowing so well as I do the person who offers them, and the motives by which he is influenced. I have reflected on those passages which you were pleased to point out as objectionable, and have nothing to reply further than that I have erred, that I am sorry, and will endeavour to mend, and that, moreover, I have already prayed for assistance to do so. Allow me, however, to offer a word, not in excuse but in explanation of the expression 'wonderful good fortune' which appeared in a former letter of mine. It is clearly objectionable, and, as you very properly observe, savours of pagan times. But I am sorry to say that I am much in the habit of repeating other people's sayings without weighing their propriety. The saying was not mine; but I heard it in conversation and thoughtlessly repeated it. A few miles from Seville I was telling the Courier of the many perilous journeys which I had accomplished in Spain in safety, and for which I thank the Lord. His reply was, 'La mucha suerte de Usted tambien nos ha acompanado en este viage." {292a}

Thus ended another unfortunate misunderstanding between secretary and agent.

Borrow had taken considerable risk in making the journey to Seville with the Courier. The whole of La Mancha was overrun with the Carlist-banditti, who, "whenever it pleases them, stop the Courier, burn the vehicle and letters, murder the paltry escort which attends, and carry away any chance passenger to the mountains, where an enormous ransom is demanded, which if not paid brings on the dilemma of four shots through the head, as the Spaniards say." The Courier's previous journey over the same route had ended in the murder of the escort and the burning of the coach, the Courier himself escaping through the good offices of one of the bandits, who had formerly been his postilion. Borrow was shown the blood-soaked turf and the skull of one of the soldiers. At Manzanares, Borrow invited to breakfast with him the Prophetess who was so unpopular at Earl Street. Continuing the journey, he reached Seville without mishap, and a few days later Antonio arrived with the horses. It was found that the two cases of Testaments that had been forwarded from Madrid had been stopped at the Seville Customs House, and Borrow had recourse to subterfuge in order to get them and save his journey from being in vain.

"For a few dollars," he tells Mr Brandram (2nd May), "I procured a fiador or person who engaged THAT THE CHESTS should be carried down the river and embarked at San Lucar for a foreign land. Yesterday I hired a boat and sent them down, but on the way I landed in a secure place all the Testaments which I intend for this part of the country."

The fiador had kept to the letter of his undertaking, and the chests were duly delivered at San Lucar; but a considerable portion of their contents, some two hundred Testaments, had been abstracted, and these had to be smuggled into Seville under the cloaks of master and servant. The officials appear to have treated Borrow with the greatest possible courtesy and consideration, and they told him that his "intentions were known and honored."

Borrow had great hopes of achieving something for the Gospel's sake in Seville; but the operation would be a delicate one. To Mr Brandram he wrote:-

"Consider my situation here. I am in a city by nature very Levitical, as it contains within it the most magnificent and splendidly endowed cathedral of any in Spain. I am surrounded by priests and friars, who know and hate me, and who, if I commit the slightest act of indiscretion, will halloo their myrmidons against me. The press is closed to me, the libraries are barred against me, I have no one to assist me but my hired servant, no pious English families to comfort or encourage me, the British subjects here being ranker papists and a hundred times more bigoted than the Spanish themselves, the Consul, a RENEGADE QUAKER. Yet notwithstanding, with God's assistance, I will do much, though silently, burrowing like the mole in darkness beneath the ground. Those who have triumphed in Madrid, and in the two Castiles, where the difficulties were seven times greater, are not to be dismayed by priestly frowns at Seville." {293a}

On arriving at Seville Borrow had put up at the Posada de la Reyna, in the Calle Gimios, and here on 4th May (he had arrived about 24th April) he encountered Lieut.-Colonel Elers Napier. Borrow liked nothing so well as appearing in the role of a mysterious stranger. He loved mystery as much as a dramatic moment. His admiration of Baron Taylor was largely based upon the innumerable conjectures as to who it was that surrounded his puzzling personality with such an air of mystery. That May morning Colonel Napier, who was also staying at the Posada de la Reyna, was wandering about the galleries overlooking the patio. He writes:-

"whilst occupied in moralising over the dripping water spouts, I observed a tall, gentlemanly-looking man dressed in a semarra [zamarra, a sheepskin jacket with the wool outside] leaning over the balustrades and apparently engaged in a similar manner with myself . . . From the stranger's complexion, which was fair, but with brilliant black eyes, I concluded he was not a Spaniard; in short, there was something so remarkable in his appearance that it was difficult to say to what nation he might belong. He was tall, with a commanding appearance; yet, though apparently in the flower of manhood, his hair was so deeply tinged with the winter of either age or sorrow as to be nearly snow white." {294a}

Colonel Napier was thoroughly mystified. The stranger answered his French in "the purest Parisian Accent"; yet he proved capable of speaking fluent English, of giving orders to his Greek servant in Romaic, of conversing "in good Castillian with 'mine host'," and of exchanging salutations in German with another resident at the fonda. Later the Colonel had the gratification of startling the Unknown by replying to some remark of his in Hindi; but only momentarily, for he showed himself "delighted on finding I was an Indian, and entered freely, and with depth and acuteness, on the affairs of the East, most of which part of the world he had visited." {294b}

No one could give any information about "the mysterious Unknown," who or what he was, or why he was travelling. It was known that the police entertained suspicions that he was a Russian spy, and kept him under strict observation. Whatever else he was, Colonel Napier found him "a very agreeable companion." {295a}

On the following morning (a Sunday) Colonel Napier and his Unknown set out on horseback on an excursion to the ruins of Italica. As they sat on a ruined wall of the Convent of San Isidoro, contemplating the scene of ruin and desolation around, "the 'Unknown' began to feel the vein of poetry creeping through his inward soul, and gave vent to it by reciting with great emphasis and effect" some lines that the scene called up to his mind.

"I had been too much taken up with the scene," Colonel Napier continues, "the verses, and the strange being who was repeating them with so much feeling, to notice the approach of a slight female figure, beautiful in the extreme, but whose tattered garments, raven hair, swarthy complexion and flashing eyes proclaimed to be of the wandering tribe of Gitanos. From an intuitive sense of politeness, she stood with crossed arms and a slight smile on her dark and handsome countenance until my companion had ceased, and then addressed us in the usual whining tone of supplication-- 'Caballeritos, una limosnita! Dios se la pagara a ustedes!'-- 'Gentlemen, a little charity; God will repay it to you!' The gypsy girl was so pretty and her voice so sweet, that I involuntarily put my hand in my pocket.

"'Stop!' said the Unknown. 'Do you remember what I told you about the Eastern origin of these people? You shall see I am correct.'-- 'Come here, my pretty child,' said he in Moultanee, 'and tell me where are the rest of your tribe.'

"The girl looked astounded, replied in the same tongue, but in broken language; when, taking him by the arm, she said in Spanish, 'Come, cabellero--come to one who will be able to answer you'; and she led