"Yes, yes," was the
reply; "I have had terrible news; my poor uncle, who had been afflicted
for years with dropsy, died only six days ago." I expressed my sincere
regret at so sad an event, while she continued her explanations to the
other lady. "I understand," she said, in a voice almost suffocated,
"that this sleeve is no longer to be--drawn in; and the--front,
according to the last--French--fashion,--is at least an inch--shorter."
Taking the opportunity of the first moment of silence, I asked for some
further details respecting this beloved uncle. "It was your Senora
mother's brother, I believe?" "No, no, the husband of my aunt: and
what--do you--think of the--mantilla?" After the reply of the other
visitor to the latter question, I continued,--"But your profound regret,
on occasion of the loss of so amiable a companion, is natural."
"Terrible, sir, yes--my poor uncle!" "Had you seen him shortly before
the sad event?" "Alas! no, sir, I never--saw him but--once in my life;
and--should not now have recognized him--for I--was then--only five
years old."

The Spaniards are not a dinner-giving nation; obedient, as some suppose,
to their proverb,--which although the effect, may also operate as a
cause,--namely, 'Feasts are given by fools, and partaken of "by wise
men." This proverb, however, paints the national character with less
fidelity than most others; the parsimonious selfishness it implies is
not Spanish. Sufficient reasons exist to account for the rarity of
dinner invitations.

Although the English are not responsible for the geniality of climate,
which corks up their crystallized souls to be enclosed fog-tight, until
released by a symbolical ceremony of the popping of champagne corks,--it
is not the less true that dinners are their only introductions to
acquaintanceship. Spaniards have corks also, and well worth the trouble
of drawing, as well as all the other _materiel_ of conviviality; but
they despise it, finding the expansion operated by their sunshine more
complete and less laborious. Their sociability no more requires dinner
parties than their aloes hedges do steam-pipes. With the exception of
their ungovernable passion for cold water, their sobriety is extreme;
and this may perhaps unite with a dislike to social ostentation in
resisting the exotic fashion of dinners. But bring a good letter of
introduction to a Spaniard, and you will find a daily place at a
well-supplied table, the frequent occupation of