ost curious of the three, a Latin
inscription, in a legible, but very ancient character.

Having one day had the simplicity to translate this inscription to a
young and beautiful Andalusian widow, smart was the rap of the fan that
I had for my pains. I had parried her curiosity as long as I could, for
her dark and dangerous eyes and clear olive complexion, which betrayed
every pulse of her southern blood, combined to put me on my guard.
Reader, will you wonder?--here is the inscription:

"Qui Daemone pejus? Mulier rixosa: fug ..."

"But what does it mean?" said my curious brunette.

"Senora, that you are lovely."

"Stuff, sir! not at all;" and she tossed her graceful head pettishly; "I
really wish you to translate it."

"Well--here, then: '_Qui Daemone pejus_'--dark women; '_mulier
rixosa_'--are the loveliest."

"No, no! I say; I am sure that is not it. Say it, word for word, or I
shall be angry--I vow I shall."

"Word for word!" What was I to do?

"Word for word," reiterated Dona Inez.

"Indeed, Senora, I don't know ... you would not forgive me."

"It is, then, something dreadful?"

"No, not exactly dreadful, but----"

"Dios! Dios! worlds of patience!" and she stamped her tiny foot; "will
you go on? You kill me with vexation. Translate it, I say, word for
word." And here the Dona, with discreet carelessness opening her fan,
prepared to blush.

"'_Qui Daemone pejus_'--who is there worse than the devil? Hum!"--now for
the pinch, thought I.

"Go on! go on!--the next words."

"'_Mulier rixosa_'--is--a----"

"Well, go on, will you?"

"Yes--a quarrelsome woman!"

Like lightning the fan closed, fell upon the unlucky index of my left
hand, which was thoughtlessly reposing upon the arm of the _causeuse_,
and nearly knocked off the first joint, by way of reward for my
reluctant compliance with her feminine wishes.

"Excuse me, Senora," I said, after I had recovered my breath, "but you
are very unjust. I had nothing to do with writing this ungallant phrase;
it was a brutal Roman, no doubt."

"You are making game of me,--I know you are."

"No, indeed; you insisted upon my translating it word for word, and I
have done your bidding."

"Then the man was a wretch who wrote them."

"I think so too, Senora."

"A brute--an animal!"

"Certainly, Senora."

"A fool--an old horror!"

"Most probably."

"An ignorant slanderer!"

"Oh! surely."

"A monster!"

"I wager anything you like of it." B