"If you wrote this, you may be, for aught I know, really JUNIUS." I
assured him that I was not; for being in Spain, and out of the reach of
the inquisitorial court of Westminster-Hall, I would instantly avow it,
for fear I should die suddenly, and carry that secret, like _Mrs.
Faulkner_, to the grave with me.




LETTER XIX.

BARCELONA.


You will, as I am, be tired of hearing so much about Messrs. Wombwell,
Curtoys, Adams, and Co.--but as there are some other persons here, which
my last letter must have put you in some pain about, I must renew the
subject. I had, you know, some letters of recommendation to the _Marquis
of Grimaldi_, which I had reserved to deliver into his Excellency's
hands at _Madrid_; but which I found necessary to send away by the post,
and to request the honour of his Excellency to write to some Spaniard of
fashion here, to shew me countenance, and to clear up my suspected
character. I accordingly wrote to the _Marquis_, and sent him my letters
of recommendation, but sixteen days was the soonest I could expect an
answer. I therefore, in the mean time, wrote myself to the _Intendant_
of _Barcelona_, a man of sense, and high birth; I told him my name, and
that I had letters in my pocket from a Spanish Gentleman of fashion,
whom he knew, which would convince him who I was, and desired leave to
wait upon him. The Intendant fixed six o'clock the same evening. I was
received, and conducted into his apartment, for he was ill, by one of