athed him the mill in his
will. But Uncle Luke, who had received only the lesser orders when the
bishop died, cast off his ecclesiastical garb at once and enlisted as a
soldier; for he felt more anxious to see the world and to lead a life of
adventure than to say mass or grind corn. He went through the campaign
of the Western Provinces in 1793, as the orderly of the brave General
Ventura Caro; he was present at the siege of the Castle of Pinon, and
remained a long time in the Northern Provinces, when he finally quitted
the service. In Estella he became acquainted with Sena Frasquita, who
was then simply called Frasquita; made love to her, married her, and
carried her to Andalusia to take possession of the mill, where they were
to live so peaceful and happy during the rest of their pilgrimage
through this vale of tears.

When Frasquita was taken from Navarre to that lonely place she had not
yet acquired any Andalusian ways, and was very different from the
countrywomen in that vicinity. She dressed with greater simplicity,
greater freedom, grace, and elegance than they did. She bathed herself
oftener; and allowed the sun and air to caress her bare arms and
uncovered neck. To a certain extent she wore the style of dress worn by
the gentlewomen of that period; like that of the women in Goya's
pictures, and somewhat of the fashion worn by Queen Maria Louisa: if not
exactly so scant, yet so short that it showed her small feet, and the
commencement of her superb limbs; her bodice was low, and round in the
neck, according to the style in Madrid, where she spent two months with
her Luke on their way from Navarre to Andalusia. She dressed her hair
high on the top of her head, displaying thus both the graceful curve of
her snowy neck and the shape of her pretty head. She wore earrings in
her small ears, and the taper fingers of her rough but clean hands were
covered with rings. Lastly, Frasquita's voice was as sweet as a flute,
and her laugh was so merry and so silvery it seemed like the ringing of
bells on Saturday of Glory or Easter Eve.

HOW THE ORPHAN MANUEL GAINED HIS SOBRIQUET

From 'The Child of the Ball'

The unfortunate boy seemed to have turned to ice from the cruel and
unexpected blows of fate; he contracted a death-like pallor, which he
never again lost. No one paid any attention to the unhappy child in the
first moments of his anguish, or noticed that he neither groaned,
sighed, nor wept. When at last they went