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This Greek was acquainted with all the cutthroats in Galicia; he could tell a story like Sterne, and in every way was a servant who deserved no less a master than Monsieur Georges. Francisco has already sufficiently adorned these pages. As for the other Antonio, the Gypsy, he guided Borrow through the worst of Spain on his way to Madrid.

There he met the Gypsies, and put off his journey to Madrid to see more of them and translate the fifteenth chapter of St. Luke into their tongue. At Merida he stopped again for a Gypsy wedding. His guide was the Gypsy, Antonio Lopez, who sold him the donkey which he rode as far as Talavera. At Madrid his business was to print the New Testament in a Spanish Catholic translation.

"Rest easy, Antonio," said Julia, in the gentlest possible tones; "to me your conduct is satisfactory, and your secret will never be exposed." So saying, she turned quickly, and glided from the room. "As I hope to be saved," said Antonio, "I meant nothing wrong but should have paid the landlord the moment he came in" but Julia heard him not.

In a vain effort to banish the unpleasant recollections of the day from his thoughts, Padre Antonio turned with a sigh from the glories of the sunset which he had been contemplating, and was on the point of entering the garden when his quick ear caught the sound of horse's hoofs on the road, causing him to pause with his hand on the latch of the gate.

One of their men, Antonio, son of a chief on the Bonny river, who had joined them from HM brig "Clinker," was especially alarmed not on his own account, as he said that his life was of no consequence, but that he feared that his two white friends, whom he loved so dearly, might be killed.

The heretofore idle navy became infused with life and was promptly detailed upon this service, coasting night and day along the shore from Cape Antonio to the Point of Maysi, but to little or no good effect. A few captures were made, but the result was only to cause a greater degree of caution on the part of the contrabandists. In vain were all the measures taken by the officials.

He was a fine, dashing, handsome young fellow of twenty-six, in a holiday suit of crimson and gold, with a fiery eye, long, curling locks, and a mustache as black as jet. "Let's hear what Antonio Giraldo has to say about the matter!" cried his companions. "Simply this," said the young man. "I have seen the imprisoned fair one the peerless Zanetta for such is her name.

Not long afterwards, having become surety for Rosso to the amount of three hundred crowns, in the matter of some pictures that the said Rosso was to paint in the Madonna delle Lagrime, Giovanni Antonio found himself in a very evil pass, for Rosso went away without finishing the work, as has been related in his Life, and Lappoli was constrained to restore the money; and if his friends had not helped him, and particularly Giorgio Vasari, who valued at three hundred crowns the part that Rosso had left finished, Giovanni Antonio would have been little less than ruined in his effort to do honour and benefit to his native city.

Antonio in the person of John Philip Kemble at length appeared, starched out in a ruff which no one could dispute, and in most irreproachable mustachios. John always dressed most provokingly correct on these occasions. The first act swept by, solemn and silent. It went off, as G. assured M., exactly as the opening act of a piece the protasis should do. The cue of the spectators was to be mute.

The cibolero himself, carrying his strange burden, once more sprang upon the back of his faithful steed. "Down the valley, master?" inquired Antonio. Carlos hesitated a moment as if deliberating. "No," replied he at length. "They would follow us that way. By the pass of La Nina. They will not suspect us of taking the cliff road. Lead on, Antonio: the chapparal path you know it best. On!"