soon hot, for, by Jove, you'll burn yourself (_brumas_), and being
a friend of AULON'S ("all on," local joke), he envies those who
can smoke the green tobacco, and doesn't wonder that they go in for
Falernian (_classic metaphor for Cape wine_).

I think that's pretty good for an old Etonian who could give BALFOUR
(the "Four" of the Fourth Party, a four-oar without a steerer) a mile
over any course of VIRGIL or OVID, and beat him easily.

WHERE ARE WE NOW?

[Illustration: The Fifth of November anticipated in Quite Mad-eira.]

_En route_, called on the Bey of Biscay. Found him in amiable
temper--not a bit rough. Lisbon delightful. Chatsworth not in it
with the smallest flower-and-kitchen garden here. Dined at the
"Brag"--short for Braganza. Suddenly inspired--wrote drinking song:--

_Sancho Panza_
At Braganza,
Quaffed no end of cup,
But _Don Quixit_
Said "Don't mix it--
Let us go and sup."

Have composed my own music to this--call it my musical cup-yright.
Shan't publish it, for fear of pirates. No other rates at sea, except
pi-rates, and the rate we're now going at--i.e., two knots an hour,
and ties pay the dealer. Hoorah! I enclose portrait of self after
the above symposium, carried round the town to the air of "_Please