well knew, William Dampier, ‘Carthagena is a fair city open to the sea.’ The level beams of the setting sun glowed upon the heaving water, and upon the great Spanish ships, lying like piled castles, with high forecastles and carved and galleried poops, slowly rocking to the solemn moving seas; and shorewards, upon the bright line of gaily-painted houses, with verandahs and balconies all fluttering with tinted draperies; and the pinnacles of churches and convents, from whence the evening bells came pealing out into the rich glowing air. One or two small fishing-craft were slowly making for the beach, and a canoe or two would now and then glide between the shipping and the shore; but to my great comfort no one seemed to pay the slightest attention to my humble self. Therefore, I made fast the canoe to the jetty whereof I spoke, and which was all hung with nets put there to dry, and walked, the more boldly as it was now grey dusk, into the city, looking for some shop or store where I might be served with the articles which I needed. The traders and merchants were now beginning to close their warehouses, and so it behoved me quickly to find a suitable shop. The streets in which I wandered being very narrow and high, were all but dark; lights gleamed out of the houses, shadowy figures moved upon balconies, and grave men with long cloaks stood by doorways, talking in their sonorous tongue, and smoking great pipes of tobacco. Still no one took notice of me, and I was the more assured, inasmuch as I saw around me many seamen dressed as I was myself, one or two of whom hailed me ‘comrade,’ and would have taken me to be treated at the Posada. I moved, however, with a quick stealthy step, keeping my eyes warily abroad, and at length, in a small street or lane, found a low-roofed shop, or rather stall, quite open to the thoroughfare, in which, in the middle of a collection of fire-arms, and steel weapons of many kinds, sat an old, hook-nosed, grey-headed man, with a very dirty face and great iron spectacles, drinking a bowl of savoury cocoa, and at the same time dictating to a little lad, dressed in a thread-bare fashion, some bills of charges which the boy was writing in a great greasy account-book, by the light of a single candle, which flared and flickered in the open shop. The old merchant I concluded to be a Jew, and judged that so long as I paid a good price for what I wanted, I would be asked no questions which it might be inconvenient to answer. I, therefore, entered the shop, and was about to speak, when the Jew, who had not perceived me, suddenly raised his voice, and, addressing some one whom I had not seen by reason of a pillar which supported the roof of the shop, said— ‘Not a pistole—not a maravedi! Father of Abraham! I think it is a robber thou art. Here be your last bills of exchange, for which I advanced thee money, returned dishonoured by the goldsmith at Cadiz. Go thy ways—go thy ways; thou shalt have no gold here!’