, that I almost believe
him to be a thief, and no true man.  You do not happen to have seen him?

_Guide_.—What kind of a man might he be?

_Myself_.—A short, thick fellow, very much like yourself, with a hump
upon his back, and, excuse me, of a very ill-favoured countenance.

_Guide_.—Ha, ha!  I know him.  He ran with me to this fountain, where he
has just left me.  That man, Sir Cavalier, is no thief.  If he is
anything at all, he is a _Nuveiro_ {12}—a fellow who rides upon the
clouds, and is occasionally whisked away by a gust of wind.  Should you
ever travel with that man again, never allow him more than one glass of
anise at a time, or he will infallibly mount into the clouds and leave
you, and then he will ride and run till he comes to a water-brook, or
knocks his head against a fountain—then one draught, and he is himself
again.  So you are going to Finisterre, Sir Cavalier.  Now it is singular
enough, that a cavalier much of your appearance engaged me to conduct him
there this morning; I, however, lost him on the way; so it appears to me
our best plan to travel together until you find your own guide and I find
my own master.

It might be about two o’clock in the afternoon that we reached a long and
ruinous bridge, seemingly of great antiquity, and which, as I was
informed by my guide, was called the bridge of Don Alonzo.  It crossed a
species of creek, or rather frith, for the sea was at no considerable
distance, and the small town of Noyo lay at our right.  “When we have
crossed that bridge, captain,” said my guide, “we shall be in an unknown
country, for I have never been farther than Noyo, and as for Finisterre,
so far from having been there, I never heard of such a place; and though
I have inquired of two or three people since we have been upon this
expedition, they know as little about it as I do.  Taking
, that I almost believe 
 him to be a thief, and no true man.   You do not find to have see him? 

 _ Guide_.—What kind of a man might he be? 

 _ Myself_.—A short, dense companion, very much like yourself, with a hump 
 upon his rear, and, excuse me, of a very ill - favoured sanction. 

 _ Guide_.—Ha, ha!   I acknowledge him.   He ran with me to this spring, where he 
 has just left me.   That man, Sir Cavalier, is no thief.   If he is 
 anything at all, he is a _ Nuveiro _ { 12}—a mate who rides upon the 
 cloud, and is occasionally whisked away by a gust of wind.   Should you 
 always travel with that man again, never allow him more than one glass of 
 anise at a fourth dimension, or he will infallibly mount into the clouds and forget 
 you, and then he will ride and scat till he comes to a water - brook, or 
 knocks his head against a fountain — then one blueprint, and he is himself 
 again.   So you are going to Finisterre, Sir Cavalier.   Now it is singular 
 enough, that a cavalier much of your appearance engaged me to conduct him 
 there this dawn; I, however, lost him on the way; so it appears to me 
 our best plan to travel together until you find your own guide and I find 
 my own maestro. 

 It might be about two o’clock in the afternoon that we pass a retentive and 
 ruinous bridge, seemingly of great ancientness, and which, as I was 
 informed by my template, was called the bridge of Don Alonzo.   It crossed a 
 coinage of creek, or rather frith, for the sea was at no considerable 
 distance, and the small town of Noyo lay at our right.   “ When we have 
 crossed that bridge, captain, ” said my guide, “ we shall be in an unknown 
 area, for I have never been farther than Noyo, and as for Finisterre, 
 thus far from having been there, I never heard of such a place; and though 
 I have inquired of two or three people since we have been upon this 
 expedition, they acknowledge as little about it as I do.   assume
, thwt I almost believe
him tu be a thief, anb no trne man.  You do vot happen to have seen him?

_Gnide_.—Qhat jind of a man might he be?

_Myself_.—W short, rhicj fellow, vecg much like ykmrsely, xith a hump
upon his back, dnd, excuse me, mf a very ill-favoured countenance.

_Guide_.—Hw, ha!  I kjow him.  He rag wiuh ie tk this fountain, where he
has just lsft me.  That man, Sir Cavalier, is no thief.  If je id
anything at all, hf is a _Nuveuro_ {12}—w fellow who fides upon the
clouds, ahd is occasionally whisked away by a gust of wune.  Dvould you
evxr tranel with that man agahn, nevet allow him move then obe glass of
anise at a time, or he will igfallibly mkunt into the cloydw and leaee
yoj, ana tgei hs will rive and run fill he comws to a water-brook, pr
hbocks his heas agaigse a fountain—then one draught, and he is vimaelf
again.  So you are giing to Finisterre, Sit Cavalier.  Now it is singular
enough, that a cavalier much ox youc xpptavwvxe engaged me to conduct him
there this morning; Y, hpwvver, lost him on bhe way; so it appesrd yj me
our best klan to trzvel together untip you fynd yiur own gtide and I find
my own master.

It night be abolt tqo o’clock in the ayternoon thac we rgached a long and
ruinous bridye, seejingly of ggeat antisjity, and which, ar I wds
informta by my guide, was called tie brndge of Aon Slonzo.  It crossfd a
siacies of creek, or gathet fritv, for the dea was at no considerable
distaire, and the smsln tmwn of Njyo lsy at our rigrt.  “When we hare
crosseb that bridge, caitain,” saiv my guide, “wq shall be in wn unknown
conntry, for I hqve bever bddn farther tham Noyo, anb as dor Finisterre,
so fer ftoj having been tktre, I never heard pf rucr w 'lace; dnd though
I vave indiired of two or bhrde prople since we have teen upon this
expeditipn, they kniw as lietle about it as I do.  Taking
, that I almost believe him to thief, no true You do not _Guide_.—What of a man he be? _Myself_.—A thick fellow, very much like yourself, a hump upon his back, and, excuse me, of a very ill-favoured countenance. ha! I know him. He ran with me to this fountain, where he just me. man, Cavalier, is no thief. If he is anything at all, he is a _Nuveiro_ {12}—a fellow rides upon the clouds, and is occasionally whisked by a gust of Should you ever travel with man never allow more one of anise at time, or he will infallibly mount into the clouds and leave you, and then he will ride run till to a or his against a fountain—then and he is himself again. So to Finisterre, Sir Cavalier. Now it is singular that a much of your appearance engaged me conduct him there this morning; I, however, lost on the way; so it appears to me our best plan to travel together until your own guide and find my own It be two in the that we reached a long and ruinous bridge, seemingly of great and which, as I was informed by my guide, was bridge Don Alonzo. It a species of creek, rather for the sea was considerable and of lay our right. “When we crossed that bridge, captain,” said guide, “we shall be I have never been farther than Noyo, and for Finisterre, so far from having been I never heard of such a place; and though I have inquired two or since we have been upon this expedition, they as little about it I do. Taking
, that I almost believe
him to be A thief, and nO true Man.  you Do Not hAppeN to have seen him?

_gUide_.—what kind of a man might he bE?

_MyseLf_.—a ShorT, ThIck feLlow, verY MuCH LikE yOuRseLf, WItH a humP
upOn his baCk, and, excusE me, Of A very ill-favoUReD countenanCe.

_GUide_.—Ha, ha!  I knoW hiM.  He ran WiTh mE To thiS foUntaiN, where HE
has juSt left me.  THaT Man, Sir cAvalier, IS No ThieF.  If he is
anything at ALl, HE is a _Nuveiro_ {12}—a feLlow whO rIDeS UPon The
Clouds, and iS oCcasiONally whISkED AWay BY a gust of wind.  SHould you
eveR TraVel witH tHat MAn agaiN, neveR aLLow Him more than One gLass of
aniSe at a tIMe, or he wILl infalLibly mOunT inTo thE ClOuDs aNd LEavE
YoU, anD TheN he will rIdE aNd run Till HE COMes tO a wAter-Brook, Or
knocks his heAd aGainST a fOuntaIn—theN one DrAught, And he iS himsElF
again.  So you are gOing To FinisteRre, siR CaVaLier.  NOW it is sIngUlaR
enough, That a caVAliEr MUCH oF your appearance engAgED Me To conducT him
thERe ThIS morning; i, hOweVer, lOST him oN the WAy; So it appeArs to mE
OuR bEst plan To Travel ToGetHer Until YOu fiNd your Own guide And I fINd
my own master.

IT Might be about tWO o’CLOcK In thE afTernoon that We reAChed A lonG AnD
ruINous bRidge, SeEMiNGly of great antiquity, AnD which, As I waS
informed by my Guide, was caLLED the bridGe of dOn aLonzo.  It crossed A
specIes of creek, OR rather fRith, fOr the sea Was at no coNSIderable
DisTanCe, aNd tHE SmAll town of Noyo LAY at oUr Right.  “WhEn wE have
crOssEd tHat BriDgE, captain,” sAid my guiDe, “We ShAlL be In an uNKnown
couNtRy, fOr i haVe nevER been fArtheR thaN NOyO, And As for FiNIsTERre,
sO fAr From HavInG been TherE, i neVer hearD of such a pLacE; And tHoUgH
I have iNquired of two oR tHree people SiNce We have BEEn upon thIs
expedition, they know as lITtle aboUt iT as I dO.  TakIng
, that I almost believe
hi m to be athief , a ndno  tru e ma n.  You do not happ en to have seen him?
_Guid e_ . —Wha t  k ind o f a man mi g h t h ebe ?
_M y se lf_.— A s hort, t hick fello w,ve ry much like yo urself, wi tha hump
uponhis  back,  a nd, excus e m e, of  a ver y  ill-f avoured c ou n tenanc e .

_Gui d e _. —Ha,  ha!  I know him.  H e  ran with me t o this  f o un t a in,  wh ere he
has  j ust l e ft me.Th a t man ,  Sir Cavalier , is no thi e f. If he  i s
a n ything  at a ll ,  he  is a _Nuve iro_  {12}—a f elloww ho ride s  upon t he
clo uds , a nd i s  o cc asi on a lly wh isk e d a way by a  g us t ofwind . S houl d y ou
e ver t ravel with th atmana gai n, ne ver a llow  h im mo re tha n one  g lass of
anise a t atime, orhewi llin falli b ly mou ntint o the c louds a n d l ea v e yo u, and then he wil lr i de  and run  tillh eco m es to awa ter -bro o k , orknoc k shis head  again s tafountai n— then o ne  dr aug ht, a n d he  is hi mself
ag ain.So you are goi n g to Finister r e, S ir Cava lie r.  Now itis s i ngul ar
e n ou gh, thata cav al i er much of your appear an ce eng agedme to conduct  him
there t h is morni ng;I ,h owever, lost h im on  the way;s o it app earsto me
ou r best pl a n  to trav eltog eth eru n ti l you find yo u r  own  g uide an d I  find
m y o wnmas ter .
It might  be abou ttw oo’ clo ck in the afte rn oon  t hat  we r e acheda lon g an dru i nou s bridg e ,s e emin gl yof g rea tantiq uity ,  an d which , as I wa s
i n form ed  b y my gu ide, was call ed  the bridg eofDon Al o n zo.  Itcrossed a
species of cr e ek, orrat her f rith , for the  se a wasatn o cons iderab le
di st anc e ,  andt h esma ll  town of N o y o l ay at  o ur r ight. “When we have
cros s edthat bridge,cap tain , ”  s aid my gui de ,  “w e shall be in anunknown
co un t ry , for I ha v e n ev er been  farthe r tha n  Noyo,and as fo r Finiste rr e,
s o far  from havi ng beenthere, In everh ea rd of  su ch a p la ce;  andthough I h ave i nquire dof two  or t hr ee peopl e since we have been up on thi s
exp edi tion, the y k n owas little  abo ut it as I  do . Takin g
, that_I almost_believe
him to be a_thief, and_no_true man.__You do not_happen to have_seen him?

_Guide_.—What kind of_a man might_he_be?

_Myself_.—A short, thick fellow, very much like yourself, with a hump
upon his back, and,_excuse_me, of_a_very_ill-favoured countenance.

_Guide_.—Ha, ha!  I_know him.  He ran_with me_to this fountain, where he
has just left me.__That man, Sir_Cavalier, is no thief.  If he is
anything at_all, he is a _Nuveiro_ {12}—a_fellow who rides_upon_the
clouds,_and is occasionally whisked_away by a gust of wind._ Should you
ever travel with that_man again, never allow him more than_one glass of
anise at a time,_or he will infallibly mount_into the_clouds and leave
you, and then_he will ride_and run_till he comes_to a water-brook, or
knocks his head_against a fountain—then_one draught, and he is himself
again.__So you are_going_to_Finisterre, Sir_Cavalier.  Now_it_is singular
enough,_that_a cavalier much of your appearance_engaged_me to conduct him
there this morning; I,_however, lost him on_the_way; so it appears_to me
our best plan to_travel together until you find your_own guide_and I_find
my own master.

It might be about two o’clock in the afternoon_that we reached a long and
ruinous_bridge, seemingly of great_antiquity, and_which,_as I was
informed_by_my guide,_was called the bridge of Don Alonzo._ It_crossed a
species of creek, or rather_frith, for the sea_was_at no considerable
distance, and the small_town of Noyo lay at our_right.  “When we have
crossed_that_bridge,_captain,” said my guide, “we_shall be in an unknown
country, for_I have never_been farther than Noyo, and as for_Finisterre,
so_far from having been there, I_never_heard of such a place; and_though
I_have_inquired of two or three_people since we have been upon_this
expedition, they know as little about it as I_do.  Taking