A dreary summer and autumn passed by, and were succeeded by as gloomy a winter. I still proceeded with the _Bible in Spain_. The winter passed, and spring came with cold dry winds and occasional sunshine, whereupon I arose, shouted, and mounting my horse, even Sidi Habismilk, I scoured all the surrounding district, and thought but little of the _Bible in Spain_. So I rode about the country, over the heaths, and through the green lanes of my native land, occasionally visiting friends at a distance, and sometimes, for variety’s sake, I stayed at home and amused myself by catching huge pike, which lie perdue in certain deep ponds skirted with lofty reeds, upon my land, and to which there is a communication from the lagoon by a deep and narrow watercourse.—I had almost forgotten the _Bible in Spain_. Then came the summer with much heat and sunshine, and then I would lie for hours in the sun and recall the sunny days I had spent in Andalusia, and my thoughts were continually reverting to Spain, and at last I remembered that the _Bible in Spain_ was still unfinished; whereupon I arose and said: ‘This loitering profiteth nothing’—and I hastened to my summer-house by the side of the lake, and there I thought and wrote, and every day I repaired to the same place, and thought and wrote until I had finished the _Bible in Spain_. And at the proper season the _Bible in Spain_ was given to the world; and the world, both learned and unlearned, was delighted with the _Bible in Spain_, and the highest authority {1} said, ‘This is a much better book than the _Gypsies_’; and the next great authority {2} said, ‘something betwixt Le Sage and Bunyan.’ ‘A far more entertaining work than _Don Quixote_,’ exclaimed a literary lady. ‘Another _Gil Blas_,’ said the cleverest writer in Europe. {3} ‘Yes,’ exclaimed the cool sensible _Spectator_, {4} ‘a _Gil Blas_ in water-colours.’ And when I heard the last sentence, I laughed, and shouted, ‘_Kosko pennese pal_!’ {5} It pleased me better than all the rest. Is there not a text in a certain old book which says: Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you! Those are awful words, brothers; woe is me!