“I take it nowise amiss, sir; yet if London is no part of Spain I fail to see how it can be the centre of the world.” For the moment I feared this extraordinary man would fall from his stool, so forcibly did his laughter ascend to the roof. I felt some discomposure, for surely such an action was no part of courtesy. Judging, however, that it is the first business of the polite to refrain from outfacing the rude with their own manners, I gathered all my patience and said, not without haughtiness, I fear: “Sir, are you not from foreign parts?” “Nay, my young son of the Spains, I am come to foreign parts, if that is your question. I was born and bred in England; I am the natural son of an English king; I have dwelt in England half my years; and when I die my bones shall lie in England, for since the time of Uthyr Pendragon, the respected progenitor of an English sovereign, no scion of my name has left his bones to rot in a foreign climate.” “England,” said I; “the land is as strange to me as far Cathay.” It was in vain that I strove to recall what I had heard of this remote island country. Yet, as I could recollect nothing whatever about it, I was fain to believe that I had never heard of it at all. CHAPTER III OF THE EATING OF MEAT NO sooner had I made this confession than this remarkable man uttered a shout that filled the place like the report of a caliver. “By my hand,” he cried, “what a nation! Have you ever heard of the moon, my son?” “Certainly, sir, I have heard of the moon.” “Come now, he’s heard of the moon. How learned they are getting in this cursed peninsula! This must be one of the clergy.” “Yes, sir,” I said with sternness, for the sauciness of his look was hard to condone; “I have heard of the moon continually; and under your good favour I am willing to hear of this England of which you make mention. Where may it be?” “Well, to begin with, I could never learn that it was in Spain. Thereby I have a predilection to my prayers, that I may reward heaven for its good kindness.” This incensed me greatly. “It must be a barbarous land this England, if I may judge by what it breeds,” was my rejoinder. “Barbarous indeed,” said he. “There are more barbers in England than there are honest men in this peninsula.” “You misunderstand me, sir, I am afraid.” “I hope I do misunderstand you, my son; for if I do not, it would almost appear that you are a native of this damnable country.” “Mother of Jesus!” I cried, “this is intolerable.” Such a taunt was beyond my patience; and when I fell to consider that he who applied it to my country, was native to a land in which civilization had yet its work to do--I had now a recollection that these English were a dreadful brawling people, a race of robbers who sold their swords for gain, and overran the whole of Europe--I deemed it proper to indulge a grievance against this foreigner whose demeanour was so rude.