One day, when I was standing by the king in the palace, he asked, in discourse, "Whether I, too, was not drunk in the quarrel with Guebra Mascal, before we came to blows?" and, upon my saying that I was perfectly sober, both before and after, because Anthulè's red wine was finished, and I never willingly drank hydromel, or mead, he asked with a degree of keenness, "Did you then soberly say to Guebra Mascal, that an end of a tallow candle, in a gun in your hand, would do more execution than an iron bullet in his?"—"Certainly, Sir, I did so."—"And why did you say this?" says the king dryly enough, and in a manner I had not before observed. "Because, replied I, it was truth, and a proper reproof to a vain man, who, whatever eminence he might have obtained in a country like this, has not knowledge enough to entitle him to the trust of cleaning a gun in mine."—"O! ho! continued the king; as for his knowledge I am not speaking of that, but about his gun. You will not persuade me that, with a tallow candle, you can kill a man or a horse."—"Pardon me, Sir, said I, bowing very respectfully, I will attempt to persuade you of nothing but what you please to be convinced of: Guebra Mascal is my equal no more, you are my master, and, while I am at your court, under your protection, you are in place of my sovereign, it would be great presumption in me to argue with you, or lead to a conversation against an opinion that you profess you are already fixed in."—"No, no, says he, with an air of great kindness, by no means, I was only afraid you would expose yourself before bad people; what you say to me is nothing."—"And what I say to you, Sir, has always been as scrupulously true as if I had been speaking to the king my native sovereign and master. WhetherI can
