But in my strictures on the old Spanish intolerance, let me not forget a little circumstance reflecting a taint of the same nature, even from our own toleration-loving countrymen. “Let me alone, and I will let you alone,” is too quiet a doctrine for even sectarians: and the two great contending parties on such weighty matters can scarcely allow themselves breathing time, ere the bone of contention which they had laid aside, is again seized on by these little ones. The truth of this was brought very forcibly to my mind some few days after the festival, when on a visit to the cathedral of San Sebastian. I was amusing myself with staring at the paintings, &c., when my attention was diverted to a tall, gaunt-looking British marine, (the marines were doing duty with the Legion at this time), who entered one of the portals, as I thought, on the same errand as myself; turning himself about two or three times, and casting sundry contemptuous glances at the different images and embellishments, his eye chanced to alight on the person of an old official in a kneeling posture between two females, absorbed in prayer. The marine’s eye brightened with indescribable expression. Taking off his cap, which till then he had neglected to do, and wiping down his long carroty wiry hair, over a low retiring forehead, which reminded me of Mawworm’s in the play, he suddenly darted to the back of the priest: “Hypocrite,” he shouted, suddenly interrupting them, while he pointed to the crucifix before which they knelt; “What do you expect by praying to those bits of timber? Hath not the Lord said, ‘Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image,’ &c.” He was continuing, when the trio, as if electrified by the foreign accent, instantly started up, screaming out, and crossing themselves, “Que, que quiere usted?” (What do you want? what do you want?) “Eh!” said he again, motioning them to the crucifix. “Don’t you know the second commandment, ‘Thou shalt not bow down to them.’” The old man, terrified, immediately appealed to me for protection. I ordered the marine instantly to leave, and would have given him in charge of the guard, had I not discovered it was his over zeal and not drunkenness, as I at first imagined, agitated him so; luckily for the methodist, there were only a few in the chapel, as had it been in the time of service, the congregation would certainly have made a martyr of him. CHAPTER XXXIII. Disorganised state of the Legion—Three months’ pay—A holiday—The 6th and 8th Scotch lay down their arms—Reasons—My wishes to retire from the Legion—I give up the command of the company—A reflection—I embark for Santander—Report myself to Colonel Arbuthnot—My new command—The convent of Carbon—Short description—Inhabitants of—First sample—A speculation—A Quarter-master’s conscience—I place him under arrest—A horse! A horse!