“We now skinned the lioness, and cut off her head; and, having placed our trophies on our horses, we made for the camp. Before we had proceeded a hundred yards from the carcass, upwards of sixty vultures, whom the lioness had often fed, were feasting on her remains. We led poor Colesberg slowly home, where, having washed his wounds and carefully stitched them together, I ordered the cold water cure to be adopted. Under this treatment the wounds rapidly healed, and he soon recovered. When the shades of evening set in, terror seemed to have taken possession of the minds of my followers; and they swore that the mate of the lioness, on finding her bones, would follow in our spoer, and revenge her death. Under these circumstances, they refused to remain about the waggons or in the tent after the sun went down; and having cut down the rafters and cupboards of the house for fuel, they kindled a large fire in the kitchen, where they took up their quarters for the night.” A Touch with the Brigands. It is now several years ago since the author of this “little episode in his life” was travelling in Spain. “I was,” says he, “on the road between Madrid and Bayonne, where the road was rugged, the mountains high, the rivers loose, and the people poor. There were a good many passengers in the rumbling old coach—six within, and ten or twelve on the outside, behind-side, and fore-side of the vehicle. My companions were—a French opera-singer; an old clergyman, who had returned from Rome through Spain, after having embraced the Catholic faith; a French clown, named Moliere, who was, in Paris, said to be equal to one Joe Grimaldi (of facetious memory); an old lady, with her lap-dog and a monkey in a box, attended by her servant, companion, and myself; so that the carriage was almost as infinite in variety as Noah’s Ark, only on a smaller scale. “The other passengers I could tell but little of. Some, however, were Frenchmen, and others either Italian or Spanish; but there was one who struck my attention by the rotundity of his person, who seemed to have been formed much upon the principle of apple-dumplings or a humming-top. This gentleman, broad, round, thick, and lumpy, was a taciturn Dutchman.