'
'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
was insufficient to cover an immense bush of coal-black hair, which,
thick and curly, projected on either side. Over the left shoulder was
flung a kind of satchel, and in the right hand was held a long staff or
pole.
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