the same would be received with the gratitude and humility which becomes those who accept charity.  Finding, however, that you were neither humble nor grateful; suspecting, moreover, that you held Austria in higher esteem than herself, even as a banker, she shrugged up her shoulders, and uttered a sentence somewhat similar to that which I have already put into the mouth of one of her children, “These four bushels of barley,” etc.

It is truly surprising what little interest the great body of the Spanish nation took in the late struggle, and yet it has been called, by some who ought to know better, a war of religion and principle.  It was generally supposed that Biscay was the stronghold of Carlism, and that the inhabitants were fanatically attached to their religion, which they apprehended was in danger.  The truth is, that the Basques cared nothing for Carlos or Rome, and merely took up arms to defend certain rights and privileges of their own.  For the dwarfish brother of Ferdinand they always exhibited supreme contempt, which his character, a compound of imbecility, cowardice, and cruelty, well merited.  If they made use of his name, it was merely as a cri de guerre.  Much the same may be said with respect to his Spanish partisans, at least those who appeared in the field for him.  These, however, were of a widely different character from the Basques, who were brave soldiers and honest men.  The Spanish armies of Don Carlos were composed entirely of thieves and assassins, chiefly Valencians and Manchegans, who, marshalled under two cut-throats, Cabrera and Palillos, took advantage of the distracted state of the country to plunder and massacre the honest part of the community.  With respect to the Queen Regent Christina, of whom the less said the better, the reins of government fell into her hands on the decease of her husband, and with them the command of the soldiery.  The respectable part of the Spanish nation, and more especially the honourable and toilworn peasantry, loathed and execrated both factions.  Oft when I was sharing at nightfall the frugal fare of the villager of Old or New Castile, on hearing the distant shot of the Christino soldier or Carlist bandit, he would invoke curses on the heads of the two pretenders, not forgetting the holy father and the goddess of Rome, Maria Santissima.  Then, with the tiger energy of the Spaniard when roused, he would start up and exclaim: “Vamos, Don Jorge, to the plain, to the plain!  I wish to enlist with you, and to learn the law of the English.  To