and imagined that we were
weeping together, like the "Babes in the Wood." "How they wrong this
man," thought I, "in England; what calumnies they circulate about his
levity, his heartlessness, and so forth; and see! look at him here
mingling in the private sorrows of an individual, and taking part in all
the private woes of Con Cregan." By this beautiful artifice I contrived
to raise the aforesaid Con to a very considerable elevation in his
own esteem; and thus, worthy reader, by pleasant fancies and ingenious
illusions,--wares that every man can fashion at will,--did I contrive to
make my prison at Malaga a most endurable resting-place, and even now to
make its retrospect full of sweet memories.

Nor were my imaginings limited to such visions as these, for I loved to
compare my condition with that of other exalted prisoners, and fancy how
_my_ conduct would read by the side of _theirs_. If I were less piously
resigned, less submissive, than Silvio Pellico, assuredly I showed more
dignity in my fall than the Exile of St. Helena. I bore all the little
vexations of my lot with a haughty reserve that entirely subdued every
sign of a querulous nature, and seemed to say, "My time will come yet!"

At last it appeared either as if my memorials were never opened, or,
if opened, never read. No answer came whatever! and even the Malaga
newspapers, which, in the dearth of shipping intelligence, would often
insert some little notice of me, stating how "the 'Conde' walked
yesterday for an hour upon 'the leads';" "the 'Conde' partook with an
appetite of a partridge, and conversed freely with the officer on duty,"
and so on,--now they never by any chance alluded to me; and I seemed,
for all the interest the world manifested about me, to have suffered a
species of moral decease. It was the unhealthy season of the year, and
the Consul had absented himself, leaving his functions to his "Vice,"
who, having also a "constitution," had departed likewise, bequeathing
the traditions and cares of office to his Dutch colleague, who neither
spoke nor read any other tongue than that muddy language begotten of
dikes and fogs. Wearied possibly by the daily arrival of half a quire
of my remonstrances, or curious to see the machine by which these broad
sheets were struck off with such unfailing celerity, this official
arrived one day at the prison with an order from the Governor,
permitting him to see the "Conde."

I was, as usual, writing away, whe