tions concerning the Spanish Main, Peru,
the Moluccas, China, the Indies, and all parts.

The first of which schemes failed; for the Spaniard was as abstemious
as any monk, and drank little but water; the second succeeded not over
well, for the Spaniard was as cunning as any fox, and answered little
but wind.

In the midst of which tongue-fence in came the Rose of Torridge, looking
as beautiful as usual; and hearing what they were upon, added, artlessly
enough, her questions to her father's: to her Don Guzman could not but
answer; and without revealing any very important commercial secrets,
gave his host and his host's daughter a very amusing evening.

Now little Eros, though spirits like Frank Leigh's may choose to call
him (as, perhaps, he really is to them) the eldest of the gods, and
the son of Jove and Venus, yet is reported by other equally good
authorities, as Burton has set forth in his "Anatomy of Melancholy," to
be after all only the child of idleness and fulness of bread. To which
scandalous calumny the thoughts of Don Guzman's heart gave at least a
certain color; for he being idle (as captives needs must be), and also
full of bread (for Sir Richard kept a very good table), had already
looked round for mere amusement's sake after some one with whom to fall
in love. Lady Grenville, as nearest, was, I blush to say, thought of
first; but the Spaniard was a man of honor, and Sir Richard his host; so
he put away from his mind (with a self-denial on which he plumed himself
much) the pleasure of a chase equally exciting to his pride and his love
of danger. As for the sinfulness of the said chase, he of course thought
no more of that than other Southern Europeans did then, or than (I blush
again to have to say it) the English did afterwards in the days of the
Stuarts. Nevertheless, he had put Lady Grenville out of his mind; and so
left room to take Rose Salterne into it, not with any distinct purpose
of wronging her: but, as I said before, half to amuse himself, and half,
too, because he could not help it. For there was an innocent freshness
about the Rose of Torridge, fond as she was of being admired, which was
new to him and most attractive. "The train of the peacock," as he
said to himself, "and yet the heart of the dove," made so charming a
combination, that if he could have persuaded her to love no one but him,
perhaps he might become fool enough to love no one but her. And at that
thought he was seized with a