could have first induced you to commence bookselling in Seville?” said I to him, as he arrived one sultry day, heated and fatigued, with a small bundle of books secured together by a leather strap.

Dionysius.—For want of a better employment, Kyrie, I have adopted this most unprofitable and despised one.  Oft have I regretted not having been bred up as a shoe-maker, or having learnt in my youth some other useful handicraft, for gladly would I follow it now.  Such, at least, would procure me the respect of my fellow-creatures inasmuch as they needed me; but now all avoid me and look upon me with contempt; for what have I to offer in this place that any one cares about?  Books in Seville! where no one reads, or at least nothing but new romances, translated from the French, and obscenity.  Books!  Would I were a Gypsy and could trim donkeys, for then I were at least independent and were more respected than I am at present.

Myself.—Of what kind of books does your stock in trade consist?

Dionysius.—Of those not likely to suit the Seville market, Kyrie; books of sterling and intrinsic value; many of them in ancient Greek, which I picked up upon the dissolution of the convents, when the contents of the libraries were hurled into the courtyards, and there sold by the arrobe.  I thought at first that I was about to make a fortune, and in fact my books would be so in any other place; but here I have offered an Elzevir for half a dollar in vain.  I should starve were it not for the strangers who occasionally purchase of me.

Myself.—Seville is a large cathedral city, abounding with priests and canons; surely one of these occasionally visit you to make purchases of classic works, and books connected with ecclesiastical literature.

Dionysius.—If you think so, Kyrie, you know little respecting the ecclesiastics of Seville.  I am acquainted with many of them, and can assure you that a tribe of beings can scarcely be found with a more confirmed aversion to intellectual pursuits of every kind.  Their reading is confined to newspapers, which they take up in the hope of seeing that their friend Don Carlos is at length reinstated at Madrid; but they prefer their chocolate and biscuits, and nap before dinner, to the wisdom of Plato and the eloquence of Tully.  They occasionally visit me, but it is only to pass away a heavy hour in chattering nonsense.  Once on a time, three of them came, in the hope of making me a