This Matter Having Been Settled, I Entered An Hostelry Near The Same Gate, Which Had Been Recommended To Me By My Host At Vendas Novas, And Which Was Kept By A Person Of The Name Of Joze Rosado.

It was the best in the town, though, for convenience and accommodation, inferior to a hedge alehouse in England.

The cold still pursued me, and I was glad to take refuge in an inner kitchen, which, when the door was not open, was only lighted by a fire burning somewhat dimly on the hearth. An elderly female sat beside it in her chair, telling her beads: there was something singular and extraordinary in her look, as well as I could discern by the imperfect light of the apartment. I put a few unimportant questions to her, to which she replied, but seemed to be afflicted to a slight degree with deafness. Her hair was becoming grey, and I said that I believed she was older than myself, but that I was confident she had less snow on her head.

"How old may you be, cavalier?" said she, giving me that title which in Spain is generally used when an extraordinary degree of respect is wished to be exhibited. I answered that I was near thirty. "Then," said she, "you were right in supposing that I am older than yourself; I am older than your mother, or your mother's mother: it is more than a hundred years since I was a girl, and sported with the daughters of the town on the hillside." "In that case," said I, "you doubtless remember the earthquake." "Yes," she replied, "if there is any occurrence in my life that I remember, it is that:

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