The Moor at Buriel 



ente^ and a halfpennyworth of bread, which I discussed in 

 haste, sitting on the corn-bin. At Celada, we breakfasted 

 on two bad watery fishes, made still more nauseous with 

 garlic. After breakfast, and feeding our ponies, we loosened 

 the Moor, and he immediately lay down in our presence, 

 with his head on the stone threshold of the stable-door. 

 He looked so wretched and weary and lean, and so changed 

 from the round, sleek, pincushion-plumpness in which he 

 left Seville, that we felt sorry and conscience-stricken. I 

 took his portrait lying at full length. 



A party of Biscayans arrived in a lumbering old rattle- 

 trap ; they were troublesomely inquisitive, and, besides, 

 gratuitously remarked that my Spanish was better than 

 Harry's, whom they had scarcely heard open his mouth. 



Here we were four leagues from Burgos, and the Moor 

 was so lame, I determined to walk all the way to ease him. 

 On leaving the village, I took off my Marselles jacket and 

 calzones^ and walked in my elastica and white drawers, to 

 be cooler. At Buriel, the Moor showed that, though worn 

 and lean and lame, his spirit was not subdued ; for, as I 

 stopped to get a drink, he perceived another entero on the 

 other side of the street, when, in spite of all I could do, he 

 pulled violently back, and began kicking at his enemy. In 

 this unruly proceeding he shook off the alforjas and upper 

 clothing, which I laid across the saddle, into the dust. I 

 begin to lose all hope that the Moor will ever learn to 

 benefit by the uses of adversity. The owner of the ill-used 

 beast, though he swore vigorously at first, when I begged 

 his pardon was very good-natured, and helped me to pick 

 up my scattered valuables. The woman of the house where 

 I got a drink asked me if I was a play-actor, judging I sup- 

 pose from the gay colours of my dress, which was, indeed, 

 theatrical enough. A sky-blue knitted woollen vest opening 



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