an end to this foreign tract and testament mongering,
whether its scene be in Spain or at a greater distance.

Before concluding, Captain Widdrington alludes to a growing shyness
towards English travellers in some of the large southern towns, owing to
the indiscretions, exaggerations, and absurdities of certain
tour-writers. It is a lamentable fact that, now-a-days, every booby who
gets on board a steamer, and leaves England for a few weeks or months,
thinks himself entitled to perpetrate a book about what he sees and
hears. We would fain whisper to such persons, that mere locomotion never
qualified any body to write a book, even of travels; that some powers of
observation, and a certain correctness of judgment, and even some
previous acquaintance with the history and character of the nation they
visit, are also necessary; and if, after that, they still persisted in
their designs, we would beg of them to remember that light words are apt
to travel both far and fast; that some part of their lucubrations may
possibly reach the countries they refer to--perhaps through the
instrumentality of the trunkmakers; and that in any case they should
avoid giving unfavourable details, even if true, of the private life and
habits of people who have shown them kindness and hospitality--details,
the data of which, if investigated, would be found, in most instances,
to be absurd and ridiculously insufficient. Some travelling bagman, or
half-fledged subaltern on his way to the Mediterranean, gets ashore at
Cadiz or Gibraltar, takes a run through three or four of the principal
Andalusian cities, perhaps has a letter of introduction, or else meets
at a _fonda_ with some good-natured Spaniard, who compassionates his
"goose look" and evident helplessness, invites him to his house, and
introduces him at a tertulia or two. The gosling picks up a few Spanish
sentences, hears a few anecdotes from some lying valet-de-place, who has
attached himself to the Senor Ingles, and leaves the country after a few
weeks', perhaps days', residence, considerably bewildered by all the
novelties he has seen, but without the slightest real addition to his
previous knowledge of Spanish character and customs. Six months
afterwards, the new work on Spain by Ensign Epaulet or Tedious Twaddle,
Esquire, issues forth, borne on a mighty blast of puffery, from the
laboratory of some fashionable publisher.

"Nothing can be more harmless," says Captain Widdrington, "th