Puslapio vaizdai

market town had met my view! Memory could trace no equal extent of German territory, without being able to reckon, at the least, ten towns of consideration within the same compass, and a half resolution to turn back on my steps, without proceeding farther in this anti-chamber to immeasurable space, arose in my mind. But Mittau appeared. I forgot my desire to return, and began even to fancy a Russian life no such intolerable affair. No thanks to Russia, however, for this, but solely to the civilization and social ardour which distinguish Mittau ! I was there congratulated on my escape from the redoubted hussar captain, who was, it seems, equally renowned as a fire-eater among men, and as a reverential, most sensitive, and most successful adorer of the fair sex. One single anecdote may serve as the ecce signum of his gallantry.

[ocr errors]

'Madamoiselle de II—, of Mittau, sat one sultry summer eve, with her back to the open window, at her piano, in an apartment où rez de Chaussée, warbling forth Mehul's well-known, Venez, venez, à mon secours!' Lightly as a Gazelle, he bounded through the window, and lay the next moment at the feet of the fair songstress. The redoubtable Captain P. was passing at the moment, chaunting forth, Je viens, je viens, a vos sécours!'"

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

On reading such fearful examples of mingled savage cruelty and insane levity, we may be inclined to comfort ourselves with the thought, that our author's description may be veracious, as regards thirty-three years since, and yet be wholly inapplicable to Russia in the present day. But the most recent testimony precludes the indulgence of so humane a supposition! A Breslaw journal of the 19th March gives the following anecdote as authentically illustrative of modern Russian military discipline: "An officer in Kalisch recently desired a soldier to fetch him some tobacco, commanding his return within five minutes, under the penalty of fifty lashes. The soldier ran at full speed, but unhappily forgot, in his headlong haste, to pull off his cap (which is strictly enjoined,) in passing the dwelling of an officer. The master of the house being unfortunately at home, observed the heinous breach of discipline, and instantly commanded the offender to be brought back, who received fifty lashes for the misdemeanour on the spot! But that was not all, for the detention thus occasioned, necessarily precluded his return within the stipulated time with the tobacco, and, accordingly, he received, in full tale, the promised fifty lashes from his own officer!"

of slavery, and exhibits the serf, within and without his
hut, as the victim of the most atrocious tyranny, "But,"
he exclaims, "Counsellor Gretsch asks, Does not the
slave dance and sing? Is he excluded from holiday
pastimes? Is he not heard shouting with wild and savage
delight in the streets and market places?'
Most true,
he does all this, but what then? Does not the calf
gambol in its tether, even while the butcher is whetting
the slaughtering knife? Apart from all consideration of
the degrading and brutalising nature of all slave enjoy-
ments, is it not well-known that their indulgence is ever
calculated to minister to the pride, and exhibit the stately
superiority of their haughty masters ? And, notwith-
standing the legalised modes by which slaves may some-
times nominally emancipate themselves, is it not an un-
deniable fact, that every outlet from serfship is so well
fenced and guarded, that the born slave virtually abides
such to his dying hour, though under another nomen-
clature, and with less palpable though not less real

chains ?""

[ocr errors]

The second chapter of vol. II. lays open that seemingly incurable cancer which eats into the vitals of Russian society, viz., the police espionage, and the universal venality of public officers in all departments of the government. "This," says our author, "is the well-spring of that frightful, all-pervading corruption and bribery, which has, in the lapse of ages, formed for itself a deep well of moral depravity, sending forth exhaustless streams of pestilential water to empoison every grade of society.” Examples of the truth of this assertion are furnished in more than satisfying abundance, and the extent to which peculation is carried, both in naval and military departments, furnishes some most amusing anecdotes. The Emperor Alexander is mentioned as having been so fully aware of the unscrupulously adventurous spirit of his naval commissariat, as to have exclaimed one day, "I verily believe they would steal my line-of-battle ships, if they knew where to hide them!" Chapter iii. treats of Russian jurisprudence, both in theory and practice. On this subject the author asks, What hath man to do in the temple, if he hath no love to the God who is there worshipped? What avails human laws, if no respect is felt for them, no sense of equity cherished or even pretended to ? Ilence we need but to examine the principles and practice of a nation's code, in order to estimate the aggregate worth of the nation itself." Vol. III. commences by throwing some fearful light on the prisons of Russia, those Chapter iv. depicts St. Petersburg and its advanced Bastiles of the 19th century, in which the suddenness of port, Cronstadt, as they were a century ago, and now act, impenetrability of procedure, and secrecy of result, are; and after many graphic descriptions, and lively illus-equal, if they do not surpass, the attainments of the Intrations of society, manners and morals, whether public quisition in its most palmy days. Siberia, too, obtains its or private, aristocratic or plebeian, concludes with a com- share of notice, and authenticated anecdotes, adduced in parative glance at the land of the author's birth, and that confirmation of all that romance ever fancied of human of his temporary though long sojourn. suffering and despair-creating misery. The following chapters depict the ecclesiastical and educational arrangements of the empire; the public and private life of the bourgeoise, the noblesse, and the government officers; summed up with a rapid but graphic sketch of the character and reign of Nicolas I., respecting whom personally the author expresses himself throughout the work in terms of the highest respect. "Never," says he, "is the truth fairly brought before the Emperor, without meeting a cordial reception. Never is injustice knowingly commitVol. II. commences with a portraiture of the horrors ted, or redress voluntarily withheld by him."

The following chapter is devoted to the Baltic Provinces, in which, after a rapid recapitulation of the events of 1812, and some amusing anecdotes of Russian bombast and gasconade respecting the French Invasion, the author declares all his reminiscences of Courland, Livonia, and Esthonia, are calculated to inspire as much love and esteem for their German-descended inhabitants, as commiseration, sympathy, and alarm, for the fate which Russian intrigues are preparing for them.

But alas, "for poor short-sighted man, when he pretends to exercise absolute, uncontrolled, irresponsible dominion over his fellow-men." Ile must see with the eyes, hear with the cars, and act by the heads of others! And how little can he therefore insure that his most conscientious decision, or best intentioned order, is either founded on justice or executed according to command? The important, and, in some respects, mysterious subject of the Caucasian war, and a cursory notice of the Polish insurrection in 1830, conclude these interesting volumes, from which it is peculiarly difficult to make extracts, partly from the rich abundance of tempting anecdotes contending for selection, and partly from the intimate interweaving of argument and relation, which enforces the insertion of much or the omission of all. To be fully appreciated, the work must therefore be read as a whole, and it will be found well to reward the time of the German scholar. As far as we are aware, it has not yet been translated into English. The author's feelings and sentiments may perhaps be most succinctly given in the following verses, in which he rejoices over release from the geni and the dangers of a Russian residence

[ocr errors]

Keep, Russia! keep thy wolves and shaggy bears! I covet nought of thine!

Not Bothnia's gulf with silver filled

Should bind me to thy shrine!

My heart the cause for long has known full well,
Which now at last my tongue is free to tell.

Keep, keep the flowers which the cold biting north
Encrusts upon thy panes!

Thy crude moss-berry wine I envy not,
Nor gold bedizened Fanes.

[ocr errors]

Wouldst offer title, wealth, and diamond star,
To win ine back again-I'd bide afar!

Keep thy pine groves and fruit, whose stinted growth
The fostering tan-pit gives!

Keep thy rich mines of varied ore, with which
Old Wral's bowels heave!

Freight thy whole navy with a jewelled glow, i
To woo me back-to thee I'd answer, No!

In life, I never more will tread the soil
Of tyrant and of slave!

Where throned in State oppression sits,
And falsehood rules the wave.

While on each hand fell greed and envy sit,
Grudging the earth which props another's feet!
Rest in thy dream of greatness unexcelled,
St. Petersburg the proud!

Hide with the glories of thy peacock-tail
The cringing, naked crowd

Of slaves, which people thy Colossal frame,
But bring no blessing, and confer no fame!"



WHY is it that Adventures are so generally repulsive to people of meditative minds? It is for the same reason that any other want of law, that any other anarchy, is repulsive. Floating passively from action to action, as helplessly as a withered leaf surrendered to the breath of winds, the human spirit (out of which comes all grandeur of human motions) is exhibited in mere Adventures as either entirely laid asleep, or as acting only by lower organs that regulate the means, whilst the ends are derived from alien sources, and are imperiously predetermined. It is a case of exception, however, when even amongst such adventures the agent reacts upon his own difficulties and necessities by a temper of extraordinary courage, and a mind of premature decision. Further strength arises to such an exception, if the very moulding accidents of the life, if the very external coercions are themselves unusually romantic. They may thus gain a separate interest of their own. And, lastly, the whole is locked into validity of interest, even for the pscychological philosopher, by complete authentication of its truth. In the case now brought before him, the reader must not doubt; for no memoir exists, or personal biography, that is so trebly authenticated by proofs and attestations direct and collateral. From the archives of the Royal Marine at Seville, from the autobiography of the heroine, from contemporary chronicles, and from several official sources scattered in and out of Spain, some of them ecclesiastical, the amplest proofs have been drawn, and may yet be greatly extended, of the extraordinary events here recorded. M. de Ferrer, a Spaniard of much research, and originally incredulous as to the facts, published

about seventeen years ago a selection from the leading documents, accompanied by his palinode as to their accuracy. His materials have been since used for the basis of more than one narrative, not inaccurate, in French, German, and Spanish journals of high authority. It is seldom the case that French writers err by prolixity. They have done so in this case. The present narrative, which contains no sentence derived from any foreign one, has the great advantage of close compression; my own pages, after equating the size, being as 1 to 3 of the shortest continental form. In the mode of narration, I am vain enough to flatter myself that the reader will find little reason to hesitate between us. Mine will, at least, weary nobody; which is more than can be always said for the continental versions.


On a night in the year 1592 (but which night is a secret liable to 365 answers), a Spanish son of somebody,"* in the fortified town of St. Sebastian, received the disagreeable intelligence from a nurse, that his wife had just presented him with a daughter. No present that the poor misjudging lady could possibly have made him was so entirely useless for any purpose of his. He had three daughters already, which happened to be more by 2+1 than his reckoning assumed as a reasonable allowance of daughters. A supernumerary son might have been stowed away; but daughters in excess were the very nuisance of Spain. He did, therefore, what in such cases every proud and lazy Spanish gentleman was apt to do he wrapped the new

* i. e. “Hidalgo."

He insisted on his right to forget her; and

her again but once. The lady superior, as regarded her demands, was equally content, and through a course of several years; for, as often as she asked pussy if she would be a saint, pussy replied that she would, if saints were allowed plenty of sweetmeats. But least of all were the nuns disappointed. Everything that they had fancied

pussy realised in racketing, racing, and eternal plots against the peace of the elder nuns. No fox ever kept a hen-roost in such alarm as pussy kept the dormitory of the senior sisters; whilst the younger ladies were run off their legs by the eternal wiles, and had their chapel gravity discomposed, even in chapel, by the eternal antics, of this privileged little kitten.

little daughter, odious to his paternal eyes, in | ter. a pocket handkerchief; and then, wrapping up in a week had forgotten her, never to think of his own throat with a good deal more care, off he bolted to the neighbouring convent of St. Sebastian; not merely of that city, but also (amongst several convents) the one dedicated to that saint. It is well that in this quarrelsome world we quarrel furiously about tastes; since agreeing too closely about the objects to be liked and appropriated would breed much more fight-possible in a human plaything fell short of what ing than is bred by disagreeing. That little human tadpole, which the old toad of a father would not suffer to stay ten minutes in his house, proved as welcome at the nunnery of St. Sebastian as she was odious elsewhere. The superior of the convent was aunt, by the mother's side, to the new-born stranger. She, therefore, kissed and blessed the little lady. The poor nuns, who were never to have any babies of their own, and were languishing for some amusement, perfectly doated on this prospect of a wee pet. The superior thanked the hidalgo for his very splendid present. The nuns thanked him each and all; until the old crocodile actually began to cry and whimper sentimentally at what he now perceived to be excess of munificence in himself. Munificence, indeed, he remarked, was his foible next after parental tenderness.

What a luxury it is sometimes to a cynic that there go two words to a bargain. In the convent of St. Sebastian all was gratitude; gratitude (as aforesaid) to the hidalgo from all the convent for his present, until, at last, the hidalgo began to express gratitude to them for their gratitude to him. Then came a rolling fire of thanks to St. Sebastian; from the superior, for sending a future saint; from the nuns, for send- | ing such a love of a plaything; and, finally, from papa, for sending such substantial board and well-bolted lodgings, "from which," said the malicious old fellow, "my pussy will never find her way out to a thorny and dangerous world." Won't she? I suspect, son of somebody, that the next time 66 you see pussy," which may happen to be also the last, will not be in a convent of any kind. At present, whilst this general rendering of thanks was going on, one person only took no part in them. That person

was 66

pussy," whose little figure lay quietly stretched out in the arms of a smiling young nun, with eyes nearly shut, yet peering a little at the candles. Pussy said nothing. It's of no great use to say much, when all the world is against you. But, if St. Sebastian had enabled her to speak out the whole truth, pussy would “So, Mr. Hidalgo, you have been engaging lodgings for me; lodgings for life. Wait a little. We'll try that question, when my

have said :

claws are grown a little longer."

Disappointment, therefore, was gathering ahead. But for the present there was nothing of the kind. That noble old crocodile, papa, was not in the least disappointed as regarded his expectation of having no anxiety to waste, and no money to pay, on account of his youngest daugh

The kitten had long ago received a baptismal name, which was Kitty; this is Catharine, or Kate, or Hispanice Catalina. It was a good name, as it recalled her original name of pussy. And, by the way, she had also an ancient and honourable surname, viz., De Erauso, which is to this day a name rooted in Biscay. Her father, the hidalgo, was a military officer in the Spanish service, and had little care whether his kitten should turn out a wolf or a lamb, having made over the fee simple of his own interest in the little Kate to St. Sebastian, "to have and to hold," so long as Kate should keep her hold of this present life. Kate had no apparent intention to let slip that hold, for she was blooming as a rose-bush in June, tall and strong as a young cedar. Yet, notwithstanding this robust health and the strength of the convent walls, the time was drawing near when St. Sebastian's lease in Kate must, in legal phrase, "determine;" and any chateaux en Espagne, that the Saint might have built on the cloistral fidelity of his pet Catalina, must suddenly give way in one hour, like many other vanities in our own days of Spanish bonds and promises. After reaching her tenth year, Catalina became thoughtful, and not very docile. At times she was even headstrong and turbulent, so that the gentle sisterhood of St. Sebastian, who had no other pet or plaything in the world, began to weep in secret-fearing that they might have been rearing by mistake some future tigress-for as to infancy, that, you know, is playful and innocent even in the cubs of a tigress. But there the ladies were going too far. Catalina was impetuous and aspiring, but not cruel. She was gentle, if people would let her be so. But woe to those that took liberties with her! A female servant of the convent, in some authority, one day, in passing up the aisle to matius, wilfully gave Kate a push; and in return, Kate, who never left her debts in arrear, gave the scrvant for a keep-sake a look which that servant carried with her in fearful remembrance to her grave. It seemed as if Kate had tropic blood in her veins, that continually called her away to the tropics. It was all the fault of that "blue rejoicing sky," of those purple Biscayan mountains, of that tumultuous ocean, which she beheld daily

from the nunnery gardens. Or, if only half of it was their fault, the other half lay in those golden tales, streaming upwards even into the sanctuaries of convents, like morning mists touched by earliest sunlight, of kingdoms overshadowing a new world which had been founded by her kinsmen with the simple aid of a horse and a lance. The reader is to remember that this is no romance, or at least no fiction, that he is reading; and it is proper to remind the reader of real romances in Ariosto or our own Spenser, that such martial ladies as the Marfisa, or Bradamant of the first, and Britomart of the other, were really not the improbabilities that modern society imagines. Many a stout man, as you will soon see, found that Kate, with a sabre in hand, and well mount-stress on that word some-for, as to delicacy, she ed, was but too serious a fact.

what is best in its kind one admires, even though the kind be disagreeable. Kate's advantages for her role in this life lay in four things, viz., in a well-built person, and a particularly strong wrist; 2d, in a heart that nothing could appal; 3d, in a sagacious head, never drawn aside from the hoc age [from the instant question of life] by any weakness of imagination; 4th, in a tolerably thick skin-not literally, for she was fair and blooming, and decidedly handsome, having such a skin as became a young woman of family in northernmost Spain. But her sensibilities were obtuse as regarded some modes of delicacy, some modes of equity, some modes of the world's opinion, and all modes whatever of personal hardship. Lay a

The day is come--the evening is come-when our poor Kate, that had for fifteen years been so tenderly rocked in the arms of St. Sebastian and his daughters, and that henceforth shall hardly find a breathing space between eternal storms, must see her peaceful cell, must see the holy chapel, for the last time. It was at vespers, it was during the chaunting of the vesper service, that she finally read the secret signal for her departure, which long she had been looking for. It happened that her aunt, the Lady Principal, had forgotten her breviary. As this was in a private 'scrutoire, she did not choose to send a servant for it, but gave the key to her niece. The niece, on opening the 'scrutoire, saw, with that rapidity of eyeglance for the one thing needed in any great emergency which ever attended her through life, that now was the moment for an attempt which, if neglected, might never return. There lay the total keys, in one massive trousseau, of that fortress impregnable even to armies from without. Saint Sebastian do you see what your pet is going to do? And do it she will, as sure as your namo is St. Sebastian. Kate went back to her aunt with the breviary and the key; but taking good care to leave that awful door, on whose hinge revolved her whole life, unlocked. Delivering the two articles to the Superior, she complained of a head-ache-[Ah, Kate! what did you know of head-aches, except now and then afterwards from a stray bullet, or so?]-upon which her aunt, kissing her forehead, dismissed her to bed. Now, then, through three-fourths of an hour Kate will have free elbow-room for unanchoring her boat, for unshipping her oars, and for pulling ahead right out of St. Sebastian's cove into the main ocean of life.

Catalina, the reader is to understand, does not belong to the class of persons in whom chiefly I pretend to an interest. But everywhere one loves energy and indomitable courage. I, for my part, admire not, by preference, anything that points to this world. It is the child of reverie and profounder sensibility who turns away from the world as hateful and insufficient, that engages my interest: whereas Catalina was the very model of the class fitted for facing this world, and who express their love to it by fighting with it and kicking it from year to year. But, always,

never lost sight of the kind which peculiarly concerns her sex. Long afterwards she told the Pope himself, when confessing without disguise her sad and infinite wanderings to the paternal old man (and I feel convinced of her veracity) that in this respect, even then, at middle age, she was as pure as is a child. And, as to equity, it was only that she substituted the equity of camps for the polished (but often more iniquitous) equity of courts and towns. As to the third item the world's opinion—I don't know that you need lay a stress on some; for, generally speaking, all that the world did, said, or thought, was alike contemptible in her eyes, in which, perhaps, she was not so very far wrong. I must add, though at the cost of interrupting the story by two or three more sentences, that Catalina had also a fifth advantage, which sounds humbly, but is really of use in a world, where even to fold and seal a letter adroitly is not the least of accomplishments. She was a handy girl. She could turn her hand to anything, of which I will give you two memorable instances. Was there ever a girl in this world but herself that cheated and snapped her fingers at that awful Inquisition, which brooded over the convents of Spain, that did this without collusion from outside, trusting to nobody, but to herself, and what? to one needle, two hanks of thread, and a very inferior pair of scissors? For, that the scissors were bad, though Kate does not say so in her memoirs, I know by an à priori argnment, viz., because all scissors were bad in the year 1607. Now, say all decent logicians, from a universal to a particular valet consequentia, all scissors were bad : ergo, some scissors were bad. The second instance of her handiness will surprise you even more :-She once stood upon a scaffold, under sentence of death-[but, understand, on the evidence of false witnesses]. Jack Ketch was absolutely tying the knot under her ear, and the shameful man of ropes fumbled so deplorably, that Kate (who by much nautical experience had learned from another sort of "Jack" how a knot should be tied in this world,) lost all patience with the contemptible artist, told him she was ashamed of him, took the rope out of his hand, and tied the knot irreproachably herself. crowd saluted her with a festal roll, long and loud, of vivas; and this word viva of good augury-but stop : let me not anticipate.


sex, and her monastic dedication. What was she to do next? Speaking of Wellington trousers would remind us, but could hardly remind her, of Vittoria, where she dimly had heard of some maternal relative. To Vittoria, therefore, she bent her course; and, like the Duke of Wellington, but arriving more than two centuries earlier, [though he too is an early riser], she gained a great victory at that place. She had made a two days' march, baggage far in the rear, and no provisions but wild berries; she depended for anything better, as light-heartedly as the Duke, upon attacking, sword in hand, storming her dear friend's entrenchments, and effecting a lodgment in his breakfast-room, should he happen to have one. This amiable relative, an elderly man, had but one foible, or perhaps one virtue in this world; but that he had in perfection,-it was pedantry. On that hint Catalina spoke she knew by heart, from the services of the convent, a few latin phrases. Latin -Oh, but that was charming; and in one so young! The grave Don owned the soft impeachment; relented at once, and clasped the hopeful young gentleman in the Wellington trousers to his uncular and rather angular breast. In this house the yarn of life was of a mingled quality. The table was good, but that was exactly what Kate cared little about. The amusement was of the worst kind. It consisted chiefly in conjugating Latin verbs, especially such as were obstinately irregular. To show him a withered frost-bitten verb, that wanted its preterite, wanted its supines, wanted, in fact, everything in this world, fruits or blossoms, that make a verb desirable, was to earn the Don's gratitude for life. All day long he was marching and countermarching his favourite brigades of verbs-verbs frequentative, verbs inceptive, verbs desiderative— horse, foot, and artillery; changing front, advancing from the rear, throwing out skirmishing parties, until Kate, not given to faint, must have thought of such a resource, as once in her life she had thought so seasonably of a vesper head-ache. This was really worse than St. Sebastian's. It reminds one of a French gaiety in Thiebault or some such author, who describes a rustic party, under equal despair, as employing themselves in conjugating the verb s'ennuyer,-Je m'ennuie, tu t'ennuies, il s'ennuit; nous nous ennuyons, &c.; thence to the imperfect-Je m'ennuyois, tu t'ennuyois, &c.; thence to the imperative—Qu'il s'ennuye, &c.; and so on through the whole melancholy conjugation. Now, you know, when the time comes that, nous nous ennuyons, the best course is, to part. Kate saw that; and she walked off from the Don's [of whose amorous passion for defective verbs one would have wished to know the catastrophe], and took from his mantelpiece rather more silver than she had levied on her aunt. But the Don also was a relative; and really he owed her a small cheque on his banker for turning out on his field-days. A man, if he is a kinsman, has no right to bore one gratis.

From this sketch of Catalina's character, the reader is prepared to understand the decision of her present proceeding. She had no time to lose : the twilight favoured her; but she must get under hiding before pursuit commenced. Consequently she lost not one of her 45 minutes in picking and choosing. No shilly-shally in Kate. She saw with the eyeball of an eagle what was indispensable. Some little money perhaps to pay the first toll-bar of life: so, out of four shillings in Aunty's purse, she took one. You can't say that was exorbitant. Which of us wouldn't subscribe a shilling for poor Katy to put into the first trouser pockets that ever she will wear? I remember even yet, as a personal experience, that when first arrayed, at four years old, in nankeen trousers, though still so far retaining hermaphrodite relations of dress as to wear a petticoat above my trousers, all my female friends (because they pitied me, as one that had suffered from years of ague), filled my pockets with half-crowns, of which I can render no account at this day. But what were my poor pretensions by the side of Kate's? Kate was a fine blooming girl of 15, with no touch of ague, and, before the next sun rises, Kate shall draw on her first trousers, and made by her own hand; and, that she may do so, of all the valuables in Aunty's repository she takes nothing beside the shilling, quantum sufficit of thread, one stout needle, and (as I told you before, if you would please to remember things), one bad pair of scissors. Now she was ready; ready to cast off St. Sebastian's towing rope; ready to cut and run for port anywhere. The finishing touch of her preparations was to pick out the proper keys: even there she showed the same discretion. She did no gratuitous mischief. She did not take the wine-cellar key, which would have irritated the good father confessor; she took those keys only that belonged to her, if ever keys did; for they were the keys that locked her out from her natural birthright of liberty. "Show me," says the Romish Casuist, "her right in law to let herself out of that nunnery." "Show us," we reply, "your right to lock her in." Right or wrong, however, in strict casuistry, Kate was resolved to let herself out; and did so; and, for fear any man should creep in whilst vespers lasted, and steal the kitchen grate, she locked her old friends in. Then she sought a shelter. The air was not cold. She hurried into a chestnut wood, and upon withered leaves slept till dawn. Spanish diet and youth leaves the digestion undisordered, and the slumbers light. When the lark rose, up rose Catalina. No time to lose, for she was still in the dress of a nun, and liable to be arrested by any man in Spain. With her armed finger, [aye, by the way, I forgot the thimble; but Kate did not]- she set to work upon her amply-embroidered petticoat. She turned it wrong side out; and with the magic that only female hands possess, she had soon sketched and finished a dashing pair of Wellington trousers. All other changes were made accord- From Vittoria Kate was guided by a carrier ing to the materials she possessed, and quite to Valladolid. Luckily, as it seemed at first, sufficiently to disguise the two main perilsher but it made little difference in the end, here, at

« AnkstesnisTęsti »