, though deeply humanitarian and
peaceful, would not hesitate to punch any number of Spanish heads that
should be necessary for the maintenance of your comfort and his dignity.

The scene is occasionally varied by the appearance of a beggar-woman,
got up in great decency, and with a wonderful air of pinched and faded
gentility. She wears an old shawl upon her head, but it is as nicely
folded as an aristocratic mantilla; her feet are cased in the linen
slippers worn by the poorer classes, but there are no unsavory rags and
dirt about her. "That good walk of yours, friend," I thought, "does not
look like starvation." Yet, if over there were a moment when one's heart
should soften towards an imposing fellow-creature, it is when one is in
the midst of the orange _granizada_. The beggar circles slowly and
mournfully round all the marble tables in turn, holding out her hand to
each, as the plate is offered at a church collection. She is not
importunate; but, looking in each one's face, seems to divine whether he
will give or no. A Yankee, sitting with a Spaniard, offers her his
cigar. The Spaniard gravely pushes the cigar away, and gives her a
_medio_.

More pertinacious is the seller of lottery-tickets, male or female, who
has more at stake, and must run the risk of your displeasure for the
chance of your custom. Even in your bed you are hardly safe from the
ticket-vender. You stand at your window, and he, waiting in the street,
perceives you, and with nods, winks, and showing of his wares endeavors
to establish a communication with you. Or you stop and wait somewhere in
your _volante_, and in the twinkling of an eye the wretch is at your
side to bear you company till you drive off again. At the Dominica he is
especially persevering, and stands and waits with as much zeal as if he
knew the saintly line of Milton. Like the beggar, however, he is
discriminative in the choice of his victims, and persecutes the stony
Yankee less than the oily Spaniard, whose inbred superstitions force him
to believe in luck.

Very strange stories do they tell about the trade in
lottery-tickets,--strange, at least, to us, who consider them the folly
of follies. Here, as in Italy, the lotteries are under the care of the
State, and their administration is as careful and important as that of
any other branch of finance. They are a regular and even reputable mode
of investment. The wealthy commercial houses all own tickets, sometimes
keeping the s