am dead, or bitchadey pawdel, that I was once the beauty of the world, or
that you, Jasper, were--'

'The best man in England of my inches. That's true, Tawno--however,
here's our brother will perhaps let the world know something about us.'

'Not he,' said the other, with a sigh; 'he'll have quite enough to do in
writing his own lils, and telling the world how handsome and clever he
was; and who can blame him? Not I. If I could write lils, every word
should be about myself and my own tacho Rommanis--my own lawful wedded
wife, which is the same thing. I tell you what, brother, I once heard a
wise man say in Brummagem, that "there is nothing like blowing one's own
horn," which I conceive to be much the same thing as writing one's own
lil.'

* * * * *

At length the moon shone out faintly, when suddenly by its beams I beheld
a figure moving before me at a slight distance. I quickened the pace of
the burra, and was soon close at its side. It went on, neither altering
its pace nor looking round for a moment. It was the figure of a man, the
tallest and bulkiest that I had hitherto seen in Spain, dressed in a
manner strange and singular for the country. On his head was a hat with
a low crown and broad brim, very much resembling that of an English
waggoner; about his body was a long loose tunic or slop, seemingly of
coarse ticken, open in front, so as to allow the interior garments to be
occasionally seen. These appeared to consist of a jerkin and short
velveteen pantaloons.

I have said that the brim of the hat was broad, but broad as it was, it