small sash, through which gold threads were worked. All the buttons
of his breeches also were of gold; and there were gold tags to all
the button-holes. His stockings were of the finest silk, and clocked
with gold from the knee to the ankle.

Dress any Englishman in such a garb and he will at once give you the
idea of a hog in armour. In the first place he will lack the proper
spirit to carry it off, and in the next place the motion of his limbs
will disgrace the ornaments they bear. "And so best," most
Englishmen will say. Very likely; and, therefore, let no Englishman
try it. But my Spaniard did not look at like a hog in armour. He
walked slowly down the plank into the boat, whistling lowly but very
clearly a few bars from a opera tune. It was plain to see that he
was master of himself, of his ornaments, and of his limbs. He had no
appearance of thinking that men were looking at him, or of feeling
that he was beauteous in his attire;--nothing could be more natural
than his foot-fall, or the quiet glance of his cheery gray eye. He
walked up to the captain, who held the helm, and lightly raised his
hand to his cap. The captain, taking one hand from the wheel, did
the same, and then the stranger, turning his back to the stern of the
vessel, and fronting down the river with his face, continued to
whistle slowly, clearly, and in excellent time. Grand as were his
clothes they were no burden on his mind.

"What is he?" said I, going up to my friend Johnson with a whisper.

"Well, I've been looking at him," said Johnson--which was true
enough; "he's a -- an uncommonly good-looking fellow, isn't he?"

"Particularly so," said I; "and got up quite irrespective of expense.