“What may your business be” said I to a short, thick, merry-faced fellow in a velveteen jerkin and canvass pantaloons, who made his way into my apartment, in the dusk of the evening.

“I am Martin of Rivadeo, your worship,” replied the man, “an alquilador by profession; I am told that you want a horse for your journey into the Asturias to-morrow, and of course a guide : now, if that be the case, I counsel you to hire myself and mare.”

“I am become tired of guides,” I replied; “so much so that I was thinking of purchasing a pony, and proceeding without any guide at all. The last which we had was an infamous character.”

“So I have been told, your worship, and it was well for the bribon that I was not in Rivadeo when the affair to which you allude occurred. But he was gone with the pony Perico before I came back, or I would have bled the fellow to a certainty with my knife. He is a disgrace to the profession, which is one of the most honourable and ancient in the world. Perico himself must have been ashamed of him, for Perico, though a pony, is a gentleman, one of many capacities, and well known upon the roads. He is only inferior to my mare.”