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the inn with Corcuelo, who, by the way, began to recount the carrier's history. He related the minutest incidents of his life; and, in short, was going to stupefy me again with his intolerable loquacity', when a man of pretty good appearance prevented that misfortune', by accosting him with great civility I left them together, and went on, without suspecting that I had the least concern in their conversation.

8. When I arrived at the inn', I called for supper', and, it being a fast day', was glad to put up with eggs. When the omelet I had bespoken was ready', I sat down to the table by myself, but had not swallowed the first morsel when the landlord came in', followed by the man who had stopped him in the street.

9. This cavalier, who wore a long sword', and seemed to be about thirty years of age', advanced towards me with an eager air, saying, "Mr. Student, I am informed that you are that Signor Gil Blas of Santillana who is the flambeau of philosophy and ornament of Oviedo. Is it possible that you are that mirror of learning, that sublime genius, whose reputation is so great in this country? You know not,' continued he, addressing himself to the innkeeper and his wife,—you know not what you possess. You have a treasure in your house. Behold, in this young gentleman', the eighth wonder of the world'!"

10. Then, turning to me, and throwing his arms about my neck, “Forgive,” cried he, “my transports'; I cannot contain the joy your presence creates'.' I could not answer for some time, because he locked me so close in his arms that I was almost suffocated for want of breath'; and it was not till I had disengaged my head from his embrace that I replied, “Signor Cavalier, I did not think my name was known at Peñaflor.” “How'! known' !" replied he, in his former strain : “we keep a register of all the celebrated names within twenty leagues of us. You', in particular, are looked upon as a prodigy'; and I don't at all doubt that Spain will one day be as proud of you' as Greece was of the Seven Sages.”

11. These words were followed by a fresh hug, which I was forced to endure, though at the risk of strangulation. With the little experience I had, I ought not to have been the dupe of his professions and hyperbolical compliments: I ought to have known, by his extravagant flattery, that he was one of those parasites who abound in every town, and who, when a stranger arrives', introduce themselves to him in order to fill themselves at his expense' But my youth and vanity made me judge quite otherwise. My admirer appeared to me so much of a gentleman', that I invited him to take a share of my supper.

12. “Ah, with all my heart',” cried he; “I am too much obliged to my kind stars for having thrown me in the way of the illustrious Gil Blas, not to enjoy my good fortune as long as I can. I own I have no great appetite',” pursued he'; “but I will sit down to bear you company', and eat a mouthful purely out of complaisance.” So saying, my panegyrist took his place right over against me', and, 2 cover being laid for him', attacked the omelet as voraciously as if he had fasted three whole days.

13. By his complaisant beginning, I foresaw that our dish would not last long; and I therefore ordered a second, which they dressed with such despatch that it was served up just as we or rather he had made an end of the first. He proceeded on this with the same vigor, and found means, without losing one stroke of his teeth, to overwhelm me with praises during the whole repast, which made me very well pleased with my sweet self. He drank in proportion to his eating', --sometimes to my health', sometimes to that of my father and

mother. 14. During this time he plied me with wine, and insisted upon my doing him justice, while I toasted health for health,— circumstance which, together with his intoxicating flattery, put me in such good humor', that, seeing our second omelet half devoured', I asked the landlord if he had any fish in the house! Signor Corcuelo, who, in all likelihood', had a fellow-feeling with the parasite, replied, “I have a delicate trout, but those who eat it must pay for the sauce: 'tis a bit too dainty for your palate, I doubt."

15. “What do you call too dainty?" said the sycophant, raising his voice: "you're a wiseacre, indeed! Know that there is nothing in this house too good for Signor Gil Blas de Santillana, who deserves to be entertained like a prince.” I was pleased at his laying hold of the landlord's last words, as he only anticipated me; and, feeling myself offended, said, with an air of disdain, “ Produce this trout of yours, Gaffer Corcuelo, and give yourself no trouble about the consequence."

16. This was what the innkeeper wanted. He got it ready and served it


in a trice. At sight of this new dish I could perceive the parasite's eyes sparkle with joy; and he renewed that complaisance-I mean for the fish-which he had already shown for the eggs. At last, however, he was obliged to give out, for fear of accident, being crammed to the very throat. Having, therefore, eaten and drunk enough, he thought proper to conclude the farce by rising from the table and accosting me in these words :

17. “Signor Gil Blas', I am too well satisfied with your good cheer to leave you without offering you an important advice, which you seem to have great occasion for. Henceforth beware of flattery'; and be upon your guard against everybody you do not know. You may meet with other people inclined to divert themselves with your credulity', and perhaps to push things still farther'; but don't be duped again, nor believe yourself, however strongly they may affirm it, the eighth wonder of the world." So saying, he laughed in my face and stalked away.




1. TAE way was long', the wind was cold',

The minstrel was infirm and old';
His wither'd cheek' and tresses gray'
Seem’d to have known a better day';
The harp', his sole remaining joy',
Was carried by an orphan boy
The last of all the bards was he
Who sung of border-chivalry,
For, well-a-day! their date was filed;
His tuneful brethren all were dead;
And he, neglected and oppress'd,
Wish'd to be with them, and at rest.

2. No more, on prancing palfrey borne,

He caroll'd light as lark at morn;
No longer, courted and caress'd',
High placed in hall', a welcome guest,
He pour'd', to lord and lady gay',
The unpremeditated lay!
Old times were changed', old manners gone';
A stranger fill'd the Stuarts' throne';
The bigots of the iron time
Had call'd his harmless art a crime.
A wandering harper', scorn'd and poor',
He begg'd his bread from door to door',
And tuned to please a peasant's ear'
The harp a king had loved to hear'.

3. He pass'd where Newark's stately tower

Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower:
The minstrel gazed with wistful eye;
No humble resting-place was nigh.
With hesitating step at last
The embattled portal-arch he pass'd,
Where ponderous grate and massy bar
Had oft rolld back the tide of war';
But never closed the iron door
Against the desolate and poor.
The duchess marked his weary pace',
His timid mien' and reverend face',
And bade her page the menials tell',
That they should tend the old man well!:
For she had known adversity,
Though born in such a high degree, -
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom,

Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb. 4. When kindness had his wants supplied',

And the old man was gratified',
Began to rise his minstrel pride';
And he began to talk anon
Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone,
And of Earl Walter, rest him God!
A braver ne'er to battle rode;
And how full many a tale he knew
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch;
And, would the noble duchess deign
To listen to an old man's strain',
Though stiff his hand', his voice though weak'
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak,
That if she loved the harp to hear'

He could make music to her ear'.
5. The humble boon was soon obtain'd';

The aged minstrel audience gain’d.
But when he reach'd the room of state,
Where she with all her ladies sate',
Perchance he wish'd his boon denied'.
For, when to tune his harp he tried',
His trembling hand had lost the ease,
Which marks securịty to please';
And scenes long past, of joy and pain,
Came wildering o'er his aged brain :
He tried to tune his harp in vain.

6. The pitying duchess praised its chime',
him heart',


him time',
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony'.
And then, he said, he would full fain
He could recall an ancient strain,
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village churls',
But for high dames and mighty earls';
He had play'd it to King Charles the Good',
When he kept court in Holyrood';
And much he wish’d, yet fear’d, to try

The long-forgotten melody.
7. Amid the strings his fingers stray'd,

And an uncertain warbling made;
And oft he shook his hoary head.
But when he caught the measure wild'
The old man raised his face and smiled";
And lighten'd up his faded eye'
With all a poet's ecstasy'!
In varying cadence', soft or strong',
He swept the sounding chords along';
The present scene, the future lot',
His toils', his wants', were all forgot';
Cold diffidence and age's frost
In the full tide of song were lost ;
Each blank', in faithless memory void',
The poet's glowing thought supplied';
And, while his harp responsive rung',
'Twas thus the latest minstrel sung:




1. Son of Vespasian', I am at this hour a poor man, as


may in the next be an exile or a slave': I have ties to life as strong as ever were bound round the heart of man : I stand here a sup pliant for the life of one whose loss would imbitter mine Yet, not for wealth unlimited', for the safety of my family, for the life of the noble victim that is now standing at the place of

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