"Full uniform--bagatella!--stuff--come just as you are; but as your business here is about that unlucky guarda costa, 'tis as well my brother Hernan has not arrived; for he is in our naval service, and might feel piqued on the subject. Well, addio--I shall see you at eight to-night--don't forget, the street of the Alcazar," and with a salute he left us. The sentinels at the door "handled" their arms as we ascended the flight of marble steps which led to the door of the captain general's palace. "The last general officer with whom I had the honour of an interview was old Towler, of the Kilkenny district," said Slingsby; "I have no idea what manner of man our Spaniard may be." As the interview with the captain-general and all the various pros and cons thereanent--as a Scotsman would say--may have appeared already among the public intelligence of "our own correspondent," who most likely was not in Seville, and knew nothing about the matter, I will only state that we were received with great urbanity and politeness by the Spanish officer who held the important post of Governor of the four kingdoms. He was a fine old cavalier, and in earlier years had served in the Peninsular war; he told us that he had commanded a regiment under Cuesta; a brigade of Cazadores under Hill, and a division under Murillo; that he had been wounded at Vittoria in attacking the heights of La Puebla, and had received the Grand Cross of the Bath from the hand of the Duke of Wellington, and latterly the Order of Carlos III., which devoted him "to the pure conception of the blessed Virgin Mary," from the Queen and the Patriarch of the Indies, at the solemn chapter held in 1853. The old fellow's eyes kindled with pleasure as he invited us to lunch, and to share with him a bottle of choice Valdepenas, saying that he loved the sight of the red coat for the memory of the olden time that would never come again--the poor red coats--he had often seen them lying thick enough on many a Spanish plain, and in many a crumbling breach and trench--at Badajoz, at Ciudad Rodrigo, San Sebastian and Tarifa. Here, at least, was one noble old Spanish soldier--one true cavalier--whose lively recollection of those great campaigns (which are second to none the world has seen) and whose sense of what his country owed to ours, formed a strong contrast to that cold ingratitude which desecrated the tomb of the Scottish hero of Corunna, and ploughed up the graves of our brave men, who were buried in the little field beneath the ramparts of Tarifa; and for the repose of whose bones our Government had to pay a sum to Spain.