"Dios vaya con usted!"

Sam informed me that the manner in which I hailed the fisherman had made
a great impression on the captain, who lauded me highly. It also made
one on me, because it was the first time I ever spoke to a European _in
Europe_!

Anon we were boarded by an old weather-beaten seadog of a Spanish pilot,
unto whom I felt a great attraction; and greeting him in Malagan Spanish,
such as I had learned from Manuel Gori, as _Hermano_! and offering him
with ceremonious politeness a good cigar, I also drew his regards; all
Spaniards, as I well knew, being extremely fond, beyond all men on earth,
of intimacy with gentlemen. We were delayed for two days at Gibraltar. I
may here remark, by the way, that this voyage of our ship is described in
a book by Mrs. Fanny Kemble Butler, entitled "A Year of Consolation
Abroad." She was on board, but never spoke to a soul among the
passengers.

I was never acquainted with Mrs. Butler, as I easily might have been, for
we had some very intimate friends in common; but as a boy I had been
"frightened of her" by certain anecdotes as to her temper, and perhaps
the influence lasted into later years. I have, however, heard her
lecture. She was a very clever woman, and Mr. Henry James, in _Temple
Bar_ for March, 1893, thus does justice to her conversational power:

"Her talk reflected a thousand vanished and present things; but there
were those of her friends for whom its value was, almost before any
other, documentary. The generations move so fast and change so much,
that Mrs. Kemble testified even more than she affected to do, which
was much, to ancient manners and a close chapter of history. Her
conversation swarmed with people and with criticism of people, with
the ghosts of a dead society. She had, in two hemispheres, seen every
one and known every one, had assisted at the social comedy of her age.
Her own habits and traditions were in themselves a survival of an era
less democratic and more mannered. I have no room for enumerations,
which, moreover, would be invidious; but the old London of her
talk--the direction I liked is best to take--was, in particular, a
gallery of portraits. She made Count d'Orsay familiar, she made
Charles Greville present; I thought it wonderful that she could be
anecdotic about Miss Edgeworth. She reanimated the old drawing-rooms,
relighted the old lamps, retuned the old pianos. The fine