636 Women are the Devil ! [JUNE, 



curled j and, seizing her guitar, she sung with great animation the follow- 



No, no, quiero, no quiero casarme, 

 Que es mejor, es mejor ser solteiro 

 E sempre placentero 

 Del mundo, del mundo gozar ." 



I shall not translate this stanza, lest I expose the morality of the fair 

 Dolorcitta to misconstruction. Overcome with the exertion of singing, 

 one of her black slaves was now despatched to her cabin for her fan. 



Now how she had come on deck without it, was a mystery I could not 

 solve, for as soon might you expect to see a Beata without her beads, as a 

 Spanish coquette without her fan. Its power is universal. In the Ala- 

 meda it is a semaphore, with which she will telegraph her lover at its 

 most distant extremity. In the church it may be compared to a battery 

 masquee, from behind which she pours the artillery of her eyes with fatal 

 effect j while in the drawing-room it is the sceptre of despotic sway. But 

 to resume our narrative : the fan was no where to be found. What could 

 have become of it ? The captain answered the question by saying that it 

 had fallen overboard. I was never remarkable for the fertility of my in- 

 vention ; yet on this occasion, and only on this occasion (and most dearly 

 did I pay for it, as will be presently seen), it received a powerful impulse. 

 I flew down to the cabin to open my portfolio, to extract from its folds 

 my passport a large folio sheet of paper. To convert this into a fan, 

 with the arms of his Most Faithful Majesty of Portugal skilfully and 

 tastefully brought out in relief on the centre, was the work of a moment. 

 Dolorcetta was delighted. "Viva dios, que U.S es galan ! que U.S es habil," 

 she rapturously exclaimed, seizing the fan, and fanning herself as none 

 but a Spanish woman can do. In the midst of all this moralizing, this 

 singing, this fanning, the moon rose from the bosom of the ocean in all 

 the bright effulgence of a tropical clime, bathing in a flood of light its 

 glassy surface. t/ f ^ lt { niifjlo ,oJ tcaqqfiST vitiorfe biuow . 



" There is a dangerous softness in that hour ; 



A stillness which leaves room for the full soul i n-91 . 



To open all itself, without the power 

 Of calling wholly back its self control. 



The silver light, which, hallowing tree and tower, 

 Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, 



Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws 



A loving languor, which is not repose." 



And Dolorcitta felt the softness of the hour her animated converse was 

 hushed she drew a deep sigh, and suddenly Heaven knows how it 

 came to pass her beautiful head rested on my shoulder ! How long it 

 rested there I do not recollect -, but the southern cross had long passed 

 the meridian, and was fast sinking in the west, and still found us lin- 

 gering on the poop. We were alone, quite alone, for her attendants were 

 fast wrapt in the arms of the drowsy god. 



Now I will stake my existence, a heavy stake too ! that some of my 

 readers would feign know what really passed on this interesting occasion. 

 I am not fond of gratifying people's idle curiosity, but I shall for once 

 depart from my reserve, and tell them, lest their thoughts should wander, 

 that nothing did pass that should have passed for a breeze suddenly 

 came over the surface of the wave, the officer of the watch took it into 

 his head to set the top gallant studding sail, and, in giving the order, he 



