features at which I gazed were my own.
A moment afterwards the spectre had
vanished, and I found myself extended on
a remarkably hard couch.

I moved my hands and arms somewhat
stiffly, and gradually raised myself. My
costume was superb: a plumed hat lay at
my side, likewise a guitar, likewise a
sword. I was still in the grotto, and so
were the figures of the commandant and
his daughter; but that of Don Juan was
gone, and the place where it had lain was
occupied by me. But perhaps I was
inaccurate. Perhaps it was I, and not the
gallant Don, who had passed into nothingness.

My difficulties were somewhat enigmatically
resolved by a voice which proceeded
from the figure of the commandant:

"Contemplation begets absorption, and
absorption begets assimilation. Idle
wanderer from the north, hast thou not present
sins enough around thee, aye, and cleaving
unto thee, that thou must gloat over the
wickedness of the past? Thou art now
identified with the mortal who took my
life, and on whom I was so terribly
revenged. In short, through a strange sort
of metempsychosis, whereof Pythagoras
spake not, thou are now Don Juan Tenorio."

I was horrified, but not altogether
displeased. The love of fame, we are taught
by Dr. Young, is the universal passion, and
if Lord Byron awoke one morning and
found himself famous, so had I, by merely
going to sleep, arrived at a similar result.
Hence horror soon gave place to the most
perfect satisfaction. I girded on the sword,
and I clapped on the plumed hat; but
I left the guitar where it was, feeling
that, as I was no master of the instrument,
it would simply be an encumbrance.

The voice burst out into an awful, but
certainly hearty laugh.

"Thou lookest forth to a brilliant career,"
it said; "and evil as thou ever hast been,
thou shalt not be straitened through lack
of means. Raise that guitar from the
ground, and thou wilt find a purse, which
will remain inexhaustible till thou returnest
hither."

"A purse of Fortunatus!" I exclaimed
with delight, when I had obeyed the
injunction of the voice.

"I never heard of Fortunatus," growled
the voice, " but I flatter myself that my
plans are perfectly original. Mind, you are
my property; I shall always look after you,
and now and then I shall make myself
visible. You will recognise me by the
coldness of my stern hand, and by my utter
want of face."

"Very good," I replied, for I was too
much elated to care about particulars;
"only let me start at once."

No sooner had I spoken these words,
than I found myself in the Plaza Nueva,
the principal square of Seville. Loungers
were resting upon the seats, laden mules
were making the air musical with their
bells, Arabs were selling insipid drinks in
their kiosks, water-carriers with their jars
were vociferously inviting passengers to
taste their primitive beverage:  in short, I
was in the centre of modern Andalusian
life.

Had I been in London, I should
assuredly have attracted a mob of boys, and
should consequently have found my way
to the station-house. In the grand square
of Seville, though I certainly was dressed
differently from any one else, I was spared
this measure of affliction. The costumes
in Spain are too various to render toleration
of strange clothes impossible, and the
only persons by whom I was actually
persecuted were the beggars, who are ever
impelled by a desire to follow strangers of
opulent appearance. As far as I could
overhear the remarks of observers, popular
opinion favoured the theory that I was a
newly-arrived bull-fighter, proud to
exhibit in public the equipments proper to the
ring. I therefore deemed it expedient to
purchase a large cloak, which, flung over
my shoulders, descended to my heels, and
to exchange my plumed hat for an
Andalusian cap of modest dimensions. But
under that cloak remained the real Tenorio,
sword and all.

Was I to wear the adventurous habit in
inglorious ease; was I simply to quaff pure
water from the glasses proffered by the
carriers, and sip the mawkish beverages
vended in the kiosks; or was I to achieve
some adventure worthy of the audacious
being into whom I had been absorbed?
Evening set in, and my doubts were
resolved by a loud sound of clapping and
stamping, which I heard issuing from the
first-floor of a house by which I was passing.
On this first-floor was the ball-room
of Seville, and the noise was made by
gipsies, male and female, who were
executing national dances, accompanied by no
other music. I paid my dollar, the
required price, and I entered the ball-room,
where two rough artists, dressed like the
commonest peasants, were going through
the wildest gesticulations, while the gipsy