A Spanish Comedy 



twirling impatiently round, like a Hindoo votary in torture, 

 on the music-stool (which I have brought up near your 

 chair), when you think some cruel and unkind remark ? 

 " It is just like one of your impertinent questions. Don't 

 talk nonsense, but tell me something amusing, for example, 

 something about your life in Madrid, now ! " 



But, of course, I prefer to talk nonsense. How much of 

 my life in Madrid do you think I should tell you if I was 

 sitting on the twirly music-stool at this moment, instead of 

 where I am at the top of the Casa del Maragato^ with my 

 swealing candle only for company, for Harry has been in 

 bed in the little room adjoining some time, and the other 

 candle lately burnt out ? 



It is past twelve. We came home at eleven from the 

 Teatro del Principe, where we saw a comedy that would 

 have amused you. It is called El Ingles y el Vtscaino. 

 The Biscayan is ruined, and contemplating suicide, repairs 

 to the river. When he is about to throw himself in, he 

 finds he is observed by a melancholy man, in a drab great- 

 coat with a cape, who he feels sure will have him fished out. 

 He retires to wait till the coast is clear. 



The melancholy drab man comes forward, and proves to 

 be an English milord^ who, finding life a bore, has deter- 

 mined to make an end of it. He contemplates his past life. 

 " Here I am, a man with fifty thousand guineas of rent, in 

 perfect health, possessing everything, in fact, which people 

 who haven't got, wish for ; and yet I am miserable. 



"I have tried everything. I bought a ship and sailed 

 round the world. I am tired of travelling. Once I tried 

 sleeping twenty hours a day : but I got tired of my bed. 



"There is nothing for it but drowning, — the only thing 

 I have not yet tried. The famous Shikkypeer has written a 

 noble soliloquy on suicide. Come, I will repeat it : Ser^ 



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